


I'm Sitting on Top of the World

by AnastasiaRosePhoenix12



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: 1920s Feminism, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - 1920s, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Bisexuality, Bootlegging, Consumer society, Crazy over the top parties, Crimes & Criminals, Flappers, Forbidden Love, Happy times, Historical References, Hollywood, Homosexuality, Immigration & Emigration, Interracial relationships, Jazz Age, Los Angeles 1926, Luxurious living, Maids, Master/Servant, Melodrama, Multi, Organized Crime, Period Typical Attitudes, Period-Typical Sexism, Prohibition, Roaring Twenties, Romance, Secret Relationships, Sexual Liberation, Sexual Tension, Soap Opera, Social class divisions, Speakeasies, Teen Romance, Teens in love, Tons of melodrama, Upper versus Lower class, period au, romanogers - Freeform, teenage avengers, winterwitch - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-18
Updated: 2018-08-27
Packaged: 2018-11-15 10:36:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 23
Words: 78,898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11229195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnastasiaRosePhoenix12/pseuds/AnastasiaRosePhoenix12
Summary: Welcome to Los Angeles 1926, the peak of the Roaring Twenties!Wealthy adopted brothers, Bucky Barnes and Steve Rogers, return home to the Stark Manor after graduating from boarding school. They, and their hoard of friends, have three months of absolute freedom before beginning their freshmen year of college. In an era synonymous with the Jazz Age, Prohibition, flappers, speakeasies, gangster crime, and sexual liberation, it only gets more interesting for Bucky and Steve when they entangle themselves in illicit affairs with the two newest foreign housemaids: Wanda Maximoff and Natasha Romanoff.Inspired by Titanic, Downton Abbey, The Great Gatsby, West Side Story, and several Mexican telenovelas about social class divisions. Titled after the popular 1926 songI'm Sitting on Top of the Worldsung by Al Jolson. Rating will go up and warnings will change as story progresses.





	1. Show Me the Way to Go Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here's my latest story! it is quickly becoming the biggest one i've ever written. i know this is a totally different avengers AU idea, and as you may have read from the summary, i was inspired by a lot of things lol. i really really hope ya'll will love it :)
> 
> tidbits of info: there can be no intimate relationships between the employed and the employer. the Marvel Academy is a private co-Ed boarding school that teaches grades 9 through 12, i.e. high school. Thor speaks with a Swedish accent. Laura isn't married to Clint, so her last name is Cardellini after Linda Cardellini who plays her. Valkyrie's first name is Barbara, after the alias Barbara Norriss that Valkyrie uses in the comics. Maria Stark is Marian Stark in this story because later on Maria Hill will appear (and like Barbara, Marian is just more old-fashioned). so yeah that's it, enjoy ♡

_May 13, 1926_

As the Class of 1926 graduation ceremony for the girls was coming to a close in the gymnasium of the Marvel Academy, faculty began escorting the boys from their dorms one last time, crossing the large quad of the campus and directing them to enter through the back of the center just as they had rehearsed on three occasions in the past week alone. Towards the end of the crowd, walked a group of friends that were the most popular, and most mischievous, of their graduating class. Dressed in their high-priced wool suits, hair perfectly slicked back, and oxfords, they carried with themselves the unbreakable illusion of upper class sophistication, and thus stood out from the rest of their peers who were just as equally wealthy.

"At last, boys!" Bucky Barnes grinned ecstatically, clamping his palms down on the shoulders of two young men on either side of him, Sam Wilson and his adoptive brother Steve Rogers. "We're finally done with high school! Four long, torturous years of hell is finally over."

"Four years has been already? _Herregud_ (my goodness)," Thor Odinson bellowed with his heavy Swedish accent.

"And your English still hasn't improved," Clint Barton joked under his breath, causing Sam to snicker, "No it hasn't."

Thor stopped in his step for a moment, one hand on his hip while bringing up the other to point at Clint with one raised dark blonde eyebrow. "I vould like to see you learn Swedish, _liten man_ (small man)."

Clint had an expression of feigned hurt. "I told you not to call me _liten man_. I'm not _liten_."

"It's been four years, Clint, and you're _still_ at the same height!" said Bucky.

"That doesn’t seem to bother my gal, I seem to recall. Who I've been with more longer than any of you idiots," Clint added with a sly grin.

"Oh, come on. She's just with you because of your parents," Sam jested. He could've had a point if it was a random girl – but Laura Cardellini wasn't just any random girl. She was Clint's Laura, who honestly cared less about who his parents were. To the rest of the world, they were film producer Harold Barton and silent film actress Edith Barton, but to Laura, they were simply Mr. and Mrs. B.

Clint scoffed, while Thor whispered to Sam, "Vith that house he live in, I vouldn't care about height either."

"I heard that," Clint deadpanned with a roll of his eyes.

"Hurry along, boys, you don't want to be late to your own graduation!" came the squeaky hollering from their American government professor, Mr. Stratton, a tall but lanky man, from way up in front of the group. The rest of the boys laughed and continued their way to the gym.

As they neared the building, the loudspeaker was nearing the end of the alphabet, and when the final female graduate’s name was called, the Head teacher of the Marvel Academy, Nicholas J. Fury, proclaimed the class that was immediately followed with thunderous applause that vibrated throughout the place.

"Golly, I didn't think so many parents would come," Steve commented at hearing the deafening noise of the audience's ovation.

"And that's just for the girls. Imagine when our pretty faces walk off that stage," Clint said, his sarcasm earning him a roll of the eyes from Steve.

"Line up in alphabetical order, gentlemen, like we practiced," clapped Mr. Kellogg, professor of English literature whose round belly doubled as a table for his book whenever he read while his students would be testing.

Bucky waved at his friends as he and Clint budged their way to the beginning of the line that was burgeoning in the small hallway.

"I hate bein' one of the last," Steve muttered under his breath.

"Tell me about it," Sam looked at him side-eyed, not liking it at all that he had to stand near the end of the line and be one of the last people called. He hated waiting.

The party of 32 eighteen-year-olds were quickly growing impatient, not only because most of them wanted to finish the ceremony and head home for the first time in four months, but the heat surrounding them being all mushed up in their suits was so uncomfortable. They stood there for another fifteen minutes, and then there was a collective sound of relief when Mr. Kellogg appeared through the door connected to the stage, followed by the playing of the song "Pomp and Circumstance."

"Quietly now, gentlemen," he whispered as he ushered the boys one by one.

They emerged from the back of the stage that was placed up against the left wall of the gym, and the crowd of parents, now joined by the graduating girls, cheered and hollered that accentuated greatly by the acoustics of the gym. It didn’t take long for Bucky to find his adoptive parents. Not surprising, the mustachioed Howard Stark and his beautiful blonde wife, Marian, were sitting front-row. Marian clutched a handkerchief, her eyes welling up at the sight of Bucky. He shot her his cheeky million-dollar smile, as she called it ever since he was little, and she clamped onto Howard for support. Standing next to him was Thor's physically imposing father, Odin Borson, revered filmmaker from Sweden and under contract at Stark Pictures. Down a few seats in the row, Bucky caught Peggy Carter and Carol Danvers, who winked at him. When Peggy and Steve's eyes met, she did the same gesture.

The ceremony lasted for almost an hour, recorded with speeches delivered by class valedictorian Peter Parker and closing remarks by Head Teacher Fury. Once every student went up the stage and received their diploma, Fury instructed all graduates, including the females in the audience, to rise.

"I present to you, family and friends, Marvel Academy's graduating class of 1926!" boomed Fury through the microphone, and the rest of the people gathered in the gym stood from their chairs and flung their raucous cheers to the youths.

Being in the last row that was a few feet away from the assembly, Steve wasn’t far from his adoptive parents, and sheepishly waved at them. His mother blew him a kiss and dabbed a tear from her cheek with the handkerchief Steve had given her more than a year ago. He then looked for Peggy, finding her already set on him. Steve's smile faltered a bit when he remembered that they were no longer together. They had mutually decided to end their four-year relationship only a couple days beforehand, not due to loss of love, but they, mostly Peggy, didn’t think having a lost-distance relationship would be beneficial. Steve was going to attend art school in Oakland, and with Peggy set for Somerville College, a constituent of the University of Oxford, it was too much of a risk to take.

It certainly wasn't helpful that Peggy was a picture of ethereal loveliness, with her brown curls cushioned under her flowery hat and her bright red lips timidly smiling back at him. Feeling the heat on his cheeks, Steve turned away to hide his embarrassment. They were no longer together, but boy, did she still have an effect on him.

 

 

* * *

 

 

After the ceremony, the students were taken outside to the wonderful earthy scenery that was the main entrance of the Marvel Academy, situated on 390 plentiful acres of green land in Santa Barbara County surrounded by the steep Santa Inez Mountains to the east and the Pacific Ocean to the west. It was a magnificent visual landscape for adolescents to spend their high school studies away from home, and no one could complain about the relaxing Mediterranean climate. Posing with Fury alongside the blooming garden, the class of 1926 were photographed with a Cine-Kodak camera that the school had recently bought for events such as this. As soon as the picture was taken, the students, clutching their diplomas, happily dispersed to search for their families.

"Whew! I thought this would never end," Carol drawled, her dainty fingers smoothing out her peach summer silk dress.

"In a hurry to get home, Carol?" Peggy asked with a smirk and arched brow.

"Ab-so-lute-ly." Carol answered with a naughty smirk of her own.

"I, on the other hand, aren't really lookin' forward goin' home. Not with the party my parents are throwin' me, even after I told them not to," Clint grumbled.

Bucky and Steve were familiar with Clint's irritated sentiment all too well, as they too had had to deal with the constant urging of their parents to throw a party in celebration of their high school graduation. By the grace of God, they caved in at the last minute and promised that nothing flashy would be done, except for a to-die-for dinner prepared by their longtime cook, Mrs. Palazzo.

Like Clint, Bucky and Steve weren't comfortable being in the spotlight. They were aware that the center of attention would be on them regardless because who their parents were, but if they could somewhat control of that scrutiny, to avoid having their names on the newspapers for every little thing they did, then that is what they would try to do. They weren't Tony, heir to Stark Industries; not in terms of personality, social standing, popularity, or even their surname. Though Steve was biologically Tony's cousin – his mother was Sarah Rogers, Marian's little sister who died during childbirth – he wasn't legally a Stark, and he didn't entirely feel like one. Ditto for Bucky, adopted at age 3 by the Starks from an orphanage in Brooklyn. Howard decided that Bucky would keep his birth name, claiming that he wanted to respect the name given to him by his birth parents, but now that Bucky was a few months over 18, he had the legal choice to remove Barnes and officially become a Stark. Whether he would actually do it, Bucky was unsure, since doing so would bring unwished media attention. It was the same dilemma Steve was going to face when he turned 18 in the summer, and though they had all the time in the world to decide the fate of their surname, neither Bucky nor Steve desired the "children of celebrity" tag that afflicted Tony, Clint, and Thor.

"Well, Laura will be there, won't you, Laura?" Bucky asked.

"Yes, of course. I wouldn't miss it," Laura responded, slipping her arm onto Clint’s as she leaned up slightly to straighten his hat and peck him on the cheek.

"Thor's father is havin' a party too, though I suspect he's only doin' it to have a reason for gettin' bent," informed Val Fury, Thor’s girlfriend of almost two years and daughter of the Academy's Head of teacher Fury. Her full name was Barbara Valkyrie, but she preferred the simplified version of Val.

"And he vonders vhere all the crashers come from," Thor remarked gruffly, thinking back on his father's regular outbursts the morning after every party and finding people who clearly had no invitations passed out in their grand living room. "Takes yust one shot of that brown plaid and any person can enter our house."

"That is true, Thor, but with all that kale your father makes, you should take advantage of it and get bent with him. Our youth only lasts for so long," Sam said with a tinge of advisability, for he was not blessed with the vast opulence that encircled his best friends.

Despite Sam's parents being employed by Stark Pictures – his father Paul as a cinematographer and his mother Darlene worked as a costume designer – they weren't earning nearly as their counterparts, and that was because of the dark color of their skin. Howard was strictly against segregating his business companies, but even he couldn't control over the salaries handed to their employees. It took strenuous efforts to not only put Sam through the Marvel Academy, but his cousin James Rhodes, who moved in with the Wilsons after his father died in the war and graduated from Marvel in 1923. There wasn't a day that Paul and Darlene wouldn't work overtime, and never did they complain about it, only reminding Sam and Rhodey that they should count their lucky stars that they have this special upbringing instead of the one his parents suffered in Harlem.

"Steve! Bucky!"

The group turned to see, among the sea of well-tailored old men and elegantly dressed mothers, Mr. and Mrs. Stark waving joyously at their sons to join them. With an affirmative nod and tip of the hat to their friends, Bucky and Steve started to retreat.

"I'll see ya fellas and dames back home," Bucky foretold as he bid them goodbye.

 

 

* * *

 

 

"I cannot believe both of you have graduated! My three sons are now grown up and going to university. How time has flown by!" Mrs. Marian Stark wept tears of happiness, her heart filled with love at the thought of her little boys becoming men right in front of her. She embraced Bucky and Steve, kissing both their cheeks and lightly smudging out the deposit of her red lipstick with her thumb.

Howard gingerly pulls his wife back, rubbing a soothing hand over her shoulder. "Forgive your mother, boys, age seems to tend to make her more emotional." Ignoring the little scoff Marian gives him, Howard grins broadly at Bucky and Steve. "But I don’t blame her. Congratulations, Steven and James, you cannot believe how immensely proud I am at both of you."

The brothers each shook their father's hand, saying at the same time, "Thank you, father."

Not expecting him to further express his felicitations – Howard was a man of few words when it came to family – Bucky gestured for his parents to walk on, and they did so. Despite their position in the public, Howard and Marian Stark weren’t necessarily close to any of the parents at the Academy. Or, rather, close to parents who didn't have ties to Stark Industries or Stark Pictures. They were friendly with Nicholas J. Fury for obvious reasons, but aside from him, Howard didn't really care to mingle with other members of the faculty. And now that his sons were all in university, there was no need for it anyways.

Diligently waiting by the primary entrance of the Academy was Howard's large and sleek automobile, his treasured black 1924 Cadillac Type V-63. The first of its kind, with a balanced two-plane crankshaft that made driving more balanced and front-wheel brakes, the seven-passenger limousine carelessly radiated the luxury that the Starks could afford to live in. Though the Cadillac was primarily used for family outings, it was still addressed as _Howard's_ car, and he drove it to and from work at the studio every day with a comforting smile, often imagining the reactions of his German father who sold fruit and his darling mother who sewed shirtwaists that their only son was a millionaire and driving around in the most luxurious car ever made.

Standing upright next to the car, holding the passenger door open, was a young man neither Bucky nor Steve recognized. His dark brown hair was mostly hidden under the plain black driving hat, but his features were apparent, with a strong nose and a soft pointed jawline. Easy with his blue eyes, he was quite the looker.

"Bucky, Steve, this is Pietro Maximoff, our new chauffeur," Marian introduced them. "He is Mrs. Maximoff's son, who we hired this past August. We didn’t bring him with us to Miami during Christmas because it was much too early to hand him the responsibility, but he’s been improving since."

"Mr. Barnes, Mr. Rogers," Pietro acknowledged them with a heavy accent that the brothers were accustomed to hearing from Mrs. Maximoff.

"Pardon for asking, but how old are you, Pietro?"

"I will turn 19 later this year, Mr. Rogers."

"You're 18?" gasped Steve in astonishment. They were practically the same age! "Father, that's very… odd of you. To hire a youth, I mean."

"I did it as a favor to Mrs. Maximoff," Howard explained though Steve didn’t need it. His father's hospitality to poor strangers was a bit infamous in the city; everyone, from his business partners to the newspaper gossipers, were aware of his tendency to employ just about any person who desperately needed a job. It's the method he used to get the sons' valets and some of the maids. He'd offer them a few months’ pay, and if they were doing a good job and wanted to stay a servant for the Starks, they were more than welcome to. Howard's peers thought it was outlandish, and maybe unbecoming, of someone of his stature to be so generous to people who didn't have work service background, but Howard didn't think much of it. Though he was a ruthless businessman, Howard wasn't entirely heartless and if he could lend a hand to the less considerate, then he would do so. "And his knowledge of the streets of Los Angeles and the surrounding areas is something we surely don't mind," he added.

"Then I think we will get along just fine. Nice meeting you, Pietro, and please, if you could show me the way to go home," Bucky said with his signature smile, eager to make the hour-and-a-half drive back to return to the comforts of his king-sized bed and forget about school studies for the next three months.

 

 


	2. Lucky Day

_May 13, 1926 – continued_

There was Pickfair, the estate owned by silent film actors "King of Hollywood" himself Douglas Fairbanks and his wife, "America's Sweetheart" Mary Pickford, _and then_ there was Stark Manor.

Located on Beverly Hills' isolated, celebrity-infested Benedict Canyon Drive, in between Mulholland Drive and Sunset Boulevard, the three-story Tudor Revival Manor sat on 25 acres of land that was utterly coveted and marveled by their very wealthy neighbors. It was the epitome of both graceful and ostentatious architecture, for Howard Stark was well-known for his indulgence, but even some people in the community whispered just how far he would go to show off his incredible affluence. It had cost $3.2 million and four years to construct the Manor brick by brick, holding the distinction of being the most expensive home built in California. And once it was finished in 1920, the splendor composition of it all was so prestigious and majestic that no one dared to question the morality of building such a spectacle of a single-family home.

The residence had 30 rooms that included a tennis court and an in-ground swimming pool. It was completed with a captivating descending staircase, a ballroom, servants' quarters, a large guest wing, a bowling alley, a motion picture room, a smaller indoor pool, and garages for the family's four automobiles. It truly was an architectural symmetry of beauty, and the European gardens that Howard dedicated to Marian only helped to further fuel the legendary status of the Manor.

And like with all resplendent mansions, there was the live-in staff of twenty-one.

It was commandeered by Edwin Jarvis, the Starks' most trusted butler. Jarvis was working as a general's aide in the British Armed Forces in the early 1910s when he had first come across Howard. Right before the Great War, Jarvis had accompanied his general to Austria-Hungary and met a young Jewish redhead named Ana Balázs at the Budapest hotel they were staying at. They fell in love, but that love was threatened when the Great War, the war to end all wars, was precipitated by Austria-Hungary declaring war on Serbia after the assassination of the Archduke Franz Ferdinand. Although the general could've secured a letter of transit for Ana, he didn't and so Jarvis forged the letter. He was accused of treason, but with help from Howard, Jarvis was saved from court martial and Ana was safely brought to him. He was dishonorably discharged from the British Army, moved to the United States and married Ana. When the Manor's construction finished and the Starks moved in, Jarvis accepted to be Stark's butler, and Ana as housekeeper.

There was also Mrs. Katia Maximoff, an immigrant from Sokovia who had started out as a housemaid in 1923 before Howard promoted her to be a personal maid for Marian. She had twin children, a boy named Pietro and a girl named Wanda, and though she hadn’t lived in the Manor for the first two years, it was ostensible that she was having issues keeping up with the rent of their apartment. At Marian's urgency, Mrs. Maximoff relented and moved into the Manor, and brought along her children whom Howard employed, Pietro as a chauffeur and Wanda as a maid. This meant that they couldn’t continue their education, but Mrs. Maximoff was confident that once all three of them saved up their money, they could go back to living at an apartment and resume their schooling.

When not serving Marian Stark, Mrs. Maximoff lend a hand to Mrs. Jiaying Johnson, head of the housemaids. She was born and raised in the China's Hunan Province, where she met Calvin L. Johnson, an American medic who opened a clinic in her village. They married and had a daughter, Daisy. The family moved to California when Daisy was little, and they lived a modest and happy life, even during the war, until Calvin was diagnosed with terminal cancer in 1918. Just before his death, Calvin informed Jiaying of his close relationship with Howard Stark and advised her work for him as his lives earnings wouldn't be enough to keep her and Daisy afloat for long. Howard was more than willing to give Jiaying a job, and like Mrs. Maximoff, she begun as maid and ultimately was put in charge of overseeing all the maids, which includes her daughter Daisy.

Besides Daisy and Wanda who were parlor maids, there was the Russian import in the form of a redhead named Natasha Romanoff. Not a lot was known about the 21-year old, except that she fled from her country after the 1917 revolution and lived in Budapest and Zurich before jumping on a ship for New York City. She had been hired around the time Wanda and Pietro were brought on board, and just like Howard had expected, Natasha was naturally excellent serving as a maid for one of Hollywood's famous families.

Outside, Pietro was pulling up to the estate, the sun already starting to set behind the Santa Monica Mountains that bared the welcoming white sign of "HOLLYWOODLAND" that was on top of the southern slope of Mount Lee. He exited the car momentarily to manually open the gate, and then drove up the driveway, the Manor slowly coming to view from the lines of scattered oak trees that were greener than ever.

Bucky and Steve smiled inwardly once they saw the slate-tiled courtyard and the fountain that had water spouting from the mouths of marble Eastern bluebirds, the state bird of New York. Circling around the fountain, Pietro parked in the porte-cochère and went to the trunk to grab the boys’ suitcases. Marvin Cunningham and Isaac Murray, the footmen, opened the car door for Mr. Stark, Mrs. Stark and their sons.

"Welcome back, Mr. Rogers, Mr. Barnes," greeted Cunningham.

"It's good to be back, MC!" Bucky replied, running a free hand through his already loose hair and tucking his hat under his arm.

"Take their cases up to their rooms, will you, Murray?" Mrs. Stark asked while removing her light cotton sweater.

"Yes, Mrs. Stark." Pietro handed Murray the suitcases and went to put the car in the garage.

"Jarvis, come congratulate this year's graduates," Mr. Stark grinned once he saw the silhouette of their butler come through the front door.

"Masters Bucky and Steve!" drawled the unmistakable deep-voiced but suave English accent that could only belong to one person. Jarvis, the loyal butler that has taken care of the Stark boys for seven years. Jarvis, whose calming presence and ability to sit and patiently listen to whatever issue any of the boys had, was a source of comfort that they depended on far more than they realized.

"Jarvis!" gleamed Steve and Bucky, who shoved social etiquette aside for an instant and hugged the tall, lean and groomed man.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Meanwhile, on the second floor in the bedroom of Bucky Barnes, chamber maid Jemma Simmons was hurriedly organizing the room. She had known this was her task for the late afternoon, and she hadn’t been neglecting it – she just lost track of time. The book that she had found in the Manor's library, the one about life sciences, had intrigued her so evidently that Mr. Stark allowed her to read it. So, she was doing that, passing her entire break time on reading the book in the comforts of her room when Mrs. Johnson had knocked on her door and asked if she had done the task that Mrs. Stark had personally assigned her. Jemma had practically thrown the book across her little room and jumped into action, running along the wide and eerily silent hallways to Mr. Barnes' room. It was mostly his bathroom and closet that needed tending, but Jemma had waited so late to prepare that when she heard Wanda's humming go past the door, Jemma called for her and begged her to help her clean up the room.

Since Mr. Barnes' bedroom was located right above the main hall, his windows offered full notice of the entrance courtyard and anyone who was arriving at the Manor. Jemma froze at the muffled but obvious vocations of human voice coming from down below.

"Do you hear that?" Jemma asked.

After a moment, she heard a distant laugh and Wanda nodded. "Yes. Someone is here."

She looked up from prepping the bedsheets and nearly laughed at seeing how Jemma's eyes had turned into saucers of fear. Jemma took three strides to the windows, and gasped loudly.

"They're here! They're here! Oh my, they're here and I'm not done!" panicked Jemma.

Wanda, not bothering to look outside, took hold of Jemma's trembling hands and forced the worrying woman to look at her. "Breathe, Jem."

Jemma's shallow breaths eventually slowed down and once she felt herself calm again, Wanda squeezed her hands and released them, both rushing to finish their chores and leave the room before any of their masters find out about their presences. Wanda finished first, and waited by the door for Jemma, anxiously peeking into the hallway for any sign of the family.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Jarvis received them with open arms, not fearing backlash from Mr. or Mrs. Stark. They were less strict on this because they knew how much their sons loved Jarvis; it was a bond neither wanted to come in between. Jarvis looked down at them, and noticed that both had grown another inch or two closer to his own 6 ft 3 in height. "You left this house as children, and returned as men," he mused. "Doesn't it feel good when hard work finally pays off?"

"Oh, tell me about it," Howard noted with a smirk playing on his lips, walking past them. "Where's my other boy, Jarvis? Tony!" he hollered as he entered the main hall of the Manor. " _Tony_!"

"No need for yelling, father, I'm right here."

Howard turned over his shoulder and saw his doppelganger of a son pacing unassumingly down the regal oak staircase with his hands tucked inside the front pockets of his black trousers. That is how Anthony Stark carried himself, heir to Stark Industries by birthright. He was carefree and confident, sarcastic and brilliant. Graduating at the top of his class a year early from the Marvel Academy, Tony was currently attending the Massachusetts Institute of Technology where he was majoring in electrical engineering and physics. It wasn't just in looks that Tony resembled his father; his exceptional intellect went untouched and his imagination never ceased to amaze his peers. A self-proclaimed genius, Tony was exactly the visionary type of son Howard wanted to run his company, and yet no rapport between them could consistently exist.

"Didn't I make myself clear that I wanted you to be present with Jarvis when we arrived?" glared Howard.

It took Tony lots of effort not to roll his eyes, which would spout more fuel on the fire. "I was getting dressed, I'm going to see Pepper right now."

"I hope you will praise your brothers before leaving?" Howard stiffly asked, though it sounded more like a demand.

"Of course, father." Tony responded with an ultra-tight smile and not waiting for him to say anything more, he continued walking out the Manor, a side of his mouth itching to sneer at how easily he could piss off his father. He stopped slightly once he caught Jarvis gazing at the diplomas. Though he was proud of his brothers for graduating, it didn’t mean that Tony could hold in his snort at the tough university education they were in for. Neither of them were ready for the responsibility that was about to hit them, and especially the responsibility heaped on Tony’s shoulders to reach the level of achievement to run Stark Industries. They’d never know, and though Tony was never one to back down from challenge – and what he was born to do – he did silently envy them that they were free from that stress.

"Is that a tear I see, Jarvis?"

Jarvis jumped at hearing Tony, and he returned the diplomas to Bucky and Steve, regaining his straight posture and cleared his throat. "Oh no, Master Tony," Jarvis said with a swift swish of his finger on his cheek. "I would never shed tears."

Tony smiled. "If you say so. Hello mother,"

"Hi sweetheart," Mrs. Stark kissed her son's cheek and took notice of his suit. "Are you going into the city?"

"Yes, Pepper and I are going to take a walk around the park," Tony nodded, and then turned to his brothers, offering them both a firm handshake. "Congratulations, Buck and Stevie. I'm really glad that you graduated from the Academy. And now that you'll be heading off to college, if you have any questions, don't hesitate to ask me, alright?"

Bucky and Steve nodded, but like what he did with their father, he didn’t give them time to answer back. After kissing their mother again, he left for the garage. Seeing the awkwardness, Mrs. Stark pretended like it wasn’t there and led them inside the house. It was no secret that the relationship among Bucky and Steve and Tony was rather precarious. Once inseparable as children, Tony became distant from them as they matured. When Tony returned from MIT in his freshmen year, he blatantly preferred to be in the company of his intellectually smart friends. It made Bucky and Steve feel inferior, despite Tony’s claims that he just simply wanted to be around his group of friends.

Steve's dwelling on the abrupt behavior of Tony was shot out of his mind when he laid eyes on the small woman speaking with his father off to the side of the staircase. She was wearing a maids' outfit, but the black-and-white outline had no effect on her hourglass body, or her striking beauty. Porcelain skin, a heart-shaped face adorned with a pair of delicate green eyes, slightly arched brown brows and luscious pink full lips. The hat trimmed with lace sat neatly on her head that was covered in fiery red hair, and Steve found it impossible to slow down his heartbeat and tear his gaze away from the lady that personified true human beauty.

Observing his family from behind him, Howard immediately ceased conversation with the maid and brought her forward to introduce to his sons. Steve recognized he was inappropriately staring and he mentally scolded himself as it was no way for a gentleman to behave. But damn it, the maid was too beautiful. Perhaps the most beautiful lady he had ever come across, and that included Peggy.

"Steve, Bucky, meet Ms. Natasha Romanoff," started Howard. Natasha gave them a simple nod and smile, averting their regard and thus not seeing Steve flustered at how pretty Natasha looked when she was nervous. "She is one of our newest parlor maids. I'll introduce you to Wanda during dinner."

"I hope you've enjoyed working here," Bucky sincerely meant it. His past experiences at mansions where the owners cruelly treated their servants always served as a good reminder to him – and his parents – that they should never steep so low of a conduct.

"Yes. I'm very grateful to Mr. and Mrs. Stark." Natasha’s slight trace of a Russian dialect surprised Steve, who had assumed she was Irish. But as soon as she spoke, Steve's heart that had deflated into prolonging sadness over his breakup with Peggy tugged for the first time.

"Why don't you two go upstairs to your rooms, unpack your belongings? Mrs. Palazzo will be serving dinner at six." Their mother stated, and Natasha excused herself, shuffling her feet out of their presence. Steve stood quiet until she turned the corner to go downstairs, her timid but exotic voice repeating in his head over and over. Had Bucky not elbowed him, Steve would’ve remained a statue like the ones in the main hall and not even realize.

"I wonder how Peggy's gonna react when I tell her that you're already stuck on the new maid," Bucky teased.

Steve blinked and put on his best blank expression, trying to suppress the butterflies flying wild in this stomach. "I - I don't know what you're talking about."

Bucky snorted, but said nothing else, the view of Steve's pink ears providing enough conviction.

 

 

* * *

  

 

After a couple of nerve-wracking minutes that felt like an hour too much for Wanda, Jemma finally emerged from the walk-in closet, gingerly closing it and taking another quick scan of the large bedroom for anything out of the ordinary as she sped to the door. Nothing was, so she whispered, "Alright! Let's go!"

Wanda was midway crossing through the threshold when Jemma shrieked, cupped her mouth and yanked at Wanda’s forearm, "Wait! Your hat."

"My hat?" Wanda reached up to her head to feel her hair, but no hat. She was shocked, but knowing she had no time, groaned and paced back into the room, keen eyes searching lightning fast for any trace of her white hat. Jemma joined her in the hunt.

"It must be here somewhere!" Jemma offered, kneeling down on the floor to look under the bed and the couches.

The voices, which had gone quiet, suddenly picked up and were quickly growing closer to the hallway that they were on. Jemma squealed.

"Forget the hat, Wanda, let's go! Mr. Stark will have our heads if Barnes finds out we're in here when we’re not supposed to!"

But Wanda didn't listen to Jemma. It had been nearly a year since her mother had gotten her the maid job, and she wasn't about to get fired over leaving a hat in one of the masters' bedrooms. She wouldn't dare roam the corridors without being full in uniform. And she didn't want Jemma to be chided for being late in organizing the room in the first place.

"Leave me, Jemma. I will be behind you," Wanda said as she searched the bathroom, opening and closing the cabinets in speedy motions.

"What?! No, Wanda –"

" _Go_!" Wanda whispered-shouted.

Jemma threw her arms up in the air in exasperation, but she listened and opened the door, glancing left and right before making her escape. The muteness set again in the room, aside from Wanda's mouth spewing Sokovian curses at misplacing the stupid hat. Not finding it in the bathroom, she surveyed the stylish-built bedroom once again and returned to the king-sized bed, debating whether she should disturb the flat satin cream-colored bedsheets that she had made. Deciding she had no choice, Wanda raised them carefully, dipping her head to look under it and sighed in utter relief when she saw the white laced hat splayed neatly on the sheets. Wanda grabbed it and adjusted it accordingly on her head.

The door suddenly sprang open and Wanda instinctively jumped around to see who had come in. Initially, she didn't recognize the young man, who walked in tiredly rubbing his palm on the left side of his face. It took half a second for him to look up and his eyes widened in surprise at discovering a maid in his room at this time of day. It was then that Wanda concluded it was Bucky Barnes, whose room she was in, and my goodness, was he even more good-looking in person. She had seen the various pictures of the Starks boys hanging around the mansion, and though all three were handsome, there was no doubt that Bucky was the most alluring one. She was off-handily focusing on his physical attractiveness before it dawned on her that she had been caught. Wanda’s face immediately heated up and she was at a loss of words. "Um – Mr. Barnes, it is not – I was just – my hat, I could not find it –"

Bucky chuckled. Wanda found herself enjoying the melodic tune of his laughter. "I believe we haven't met. I'm Bucky."

Wanda hesitated for a moment, not knowing if she was allowed to shake a Stark's hand. But since he was respectfully offering, and Wanda certainly couldn’t turn down a demand from her employers, she self-consciously wiped her hands on her apron and shook his hand. "Wanda. My mother is Mrs. Maximoff."

His head slightly cocked to the side. "So _you're_ Wanda?"

Wanda couldn’t help the inaudible but still embarrassing gasp that left her lips; she trembled at the mere thought of him already hearing about her. "Yes."

Bucky smiled warmly at her, his blue eyes reminding Wanda of the Pacific Ocean. For his part, he was quite taken by the small-statured brunette maid fidgeting fretfully in front of him. She was baby-faced, adorably so, with her round green eyes, button nose, and the natural pink tint of her cheeks. He could see a bit of her brother in her, but there was a whole lot more of her lovely mother in her angelic features.

"I should be on my way," Wanda softly said, gesturing towards the door.

"Oh, yes," replied Bucky, feeling a bit sad to see her leave despite not understanding why exactly. "You're right."

"Mr. Barnes," she lowered her head a bit, her feet already on the move. 

As she exited his room and closed the door, Bucky reflexively looked at her up and down from behind – for he always did when a certain dame would catch his eyes. And Wanda Maximoff definitely had. Effortlessly.

 

 


	3. Breezin' Along with the Breeze

_May 13, 1926 – continued_

As Wanda scurried down the hallway away from Mr. Barnes, or Master Bucky's, or however she was supposed to address him, bedroom, she turned a relatively hidden corner into a narrow and dark descending staircase to the downstairs servants’ quarters, barely able keep a lid on her excitement. A rush of adrenaline was running through her, what had just occurred repeating again in her mind. She was biting down on her lower lip to stop from grinning like a mad woman, but every time his pretty face reappeared in her memory, Wanda's stomach was filled with butterflies. She wasn't really sure what was more invigorating - getting caught in a place she had no business being in, or standing in the presence of the most beautiful man she had ever seen face-to-face. Either way, Wanda was high up in the clouds.

Nearing the end of the stairs, the voices of the staff grew. Wanda, still giddy, paused on the edge of the stairs, adjusting her uniform and clearing her throat. She would act normal, like she hadn't just been caught in the bedroom of one of Howard Stark's sons. She would act like nothing had happened.

"Wanda, my goodness!" gasped Jemma out of nowhere, full of nerves. "What took you so long? You said you were gonna be right behind me and it's been fifteen minutes!"

The brunette looked up at Jemma, who was clutching onto her elbows as if to assure herself that she was there standing. Wanda chuckled, leading her to the large table where the staff ate breakfast, lunch and dinner. They sat down and Wanda considered lying to her, that she had fled just in time and gone to do another chore upstairs. But the eager charge was not calming down within Wanda, she was itching to tell anyone.

Observing that the staff was pacing back and forth around downstairs, paying no attention to the two young women sitting close to each other, Wanda disclosed.

"The reason I was late returning is because..." she leaned even closer to Jemma. "Bucky Barnes came in and saw me!"

Jemma's jaw dropped and she furiously whispered back, " _What_?! He saw you in his bedroom?"

Wanda nodded. "Yes! I found my hat and I was about to get out of there. Then he came in."

"What did you do?"

Shrugging, Wanda responded, "I told him my name. I did not know what else to say or do."

"Was he angry?"

Wanda's eyes glittered as she thought back of his smile. Jemma took noticed of her softened expression. "No... no. He was not. He was respectful and did not think much of it. That surprised me."

"So he did nothing?" Jemma asked, agog. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. The Stark sons were laxer compared their parents in terms of social customs, but even they knew when to call the servants out when they were in certain rooms of the Manor that they weren’t scheduled to be in that day.

"Nothing," Wanda repeated, and then a blush creeped up on her cheeks. "I think I even dismissed myself."

If Jemma's eyes could get any bigger, they would as she felt they were going to explode from their sockets. She was at a loss of words, unable to form any more questions. That is, until she was reminded of Mr. and Mrs. Stark, and the possible repercussions.

"You don't reckon he would tell his parents, do you?"

The running enthusiasm suddenly blasted out of Wanda. Her face fell, downgraded to fear, fear of her behavior being reported to her employers. In an instant, she was no longer envisioning Bucky Barnes' heart-tugging smile. Instead, she saw her mother begging Mr. Stark to give her one more chance, and the mustachioed millionaire not budging an inch.

No, she couldn't be fired over a little mistake like that. She hadn't been insubordinate, nor would she put the blame on her friend. It was just a simple "wrong place, wrong time" sort of thing.

"I - I pray not," Wanda stuttered.

"What are you two vamps gossiping about now?"

Wanda and Jemma practically jumped out of their skin at the sound of Jessica Jones' blunt voice looming overhead. They turned to see the chamber maid slyly smiling at them with a raised brow and arms crossed over her chest. With her tall wispy frame and jet-black hair, Jessica was one of those people who didn't say much but didn't mean she wasn't aware of everything going on. She was blunt and unapologetic, a rare jewel in the society of courteous and soft-spoken women.

Wanda thought of blowing her off, not wanting what transpired between her and Bucky to spread around downstairs - as scandalous stories always did - but before she could, Jemma was already opening her mouth, asking for help like it had been her that had gotten caught.

"You clean Master Bucky's bedroom, right?"

"Yeah."

“Because Wanda was doing that and he walked in, and now she’s worried that if he tells Mr. Stark then she’ll be fired.”

"Jemma!" interjected Wanda, who quickly regretted telling her companion everything. For someone who was a highly intelligent scientific person and rightfully belonged in a laboratory than as a lowly chamber maid, Jemma Simmons was rather clueless when it came to social interactions, and more importantly, was too blatantly and unnecessarily open about all things. Too narrow-minded, no wonder she had trouble acting out on her desire for Leo Fitz. Jemma looked back at Wanda, sheepishly shrugging her shoulders as if to say, "Well?"

Jessica rolled her eyes and scoffed, " _I_ wouldn't worry about it. That ol' buckaroo is as laid back as my chest is when I’m sleeping."

Jemma shot up from her chair, appalled that she would dare address him by that ugly nickname. "Jessica, don’t say that!" she warned, ignoring the chuckles that Wanda tried to stifle behind her hand.

"What I’m sayin' is that Bucky doesn't mind it when he’s in his room and a maid is cleanin' it. His parents care, but he doesn't. I've done it a couple times actually," Jessica explained, and then her mouth devilishly quirked up. She looked behind her to make sure that no one was in hearing distance of what she was going to say next. "One time, I even changed his bedsheets while he was bathing."

This go-around, it was Wanda's turn for her jaw to slacken. She immediately imagined what his body would look like from under that dark suit, his nest of hair wet and dripping down his neck, her body embraced by his…

And the dream was interrupted when Jemma fell back to her seat, bumping into Wanda in the process. Jemma was completely shocked at the mischievousness her co-workers put themselves into with one of the Stark sons. She could've never guessed it – well, maybe hearing Jessica’s story wasn’t entirely surprising, coming from her – but nevertheless, she had no interest in listening to it anymore.

"Miss Jones, Miss Simmons," rung out Mrs. Maximoff’s shrill of her heavily accented voice when she spotted the two chamber maids doing the opposite of what they were supposed to do, which was ironing the suits of the Stark men. "– Oh, and my own daughter, what is going on here?"

Jessica accepted that as her cue to run along elsewhere, not bothering to come up with an excuse, unlike Wanda and Jemma who were caught wide-eyed. They stood up, hands folded in front of their apron, and Jemma looked at Wanda sideways, waiting for her to respond to her mother. 

"We were resting our feet, mama," Wanda sputtered under the scrutiny of her mother, who was smaller than her but that didn't diminish how overbearing she was. 

Mrs. Maximoff's face blanked, her pale cheeks hollowed as an arched dark brown brow raised up. Her mouth opened to retort, but she never got to say anything. From behind her, there was a sudden rush of excited chatter and the staff infiltrated the room.

"What is going on?" Mrs. Maximoff asked no one in particular.

Peeking through the crowd was a grinning Daisy Johnson, who scrambled past Mrs. Maximoff to Wanda and Jemma.

"Cunningham just said that Barnes and Rogers are coming down to greet us!" Daisy giggled, her calloused hand resting on Wanda's forearm.

Wanda stilled. She couldn't hear a single sound except for the rapid heartbeat pouncing in her chest. She felt hot, and a tad dizzy, maybe even nauseous. Whatever it was, it rendered her speechless. She couldn't form a coherent word, only making a little squeak of bewilderment.

She turned around in time to distantly hear Jarvis speaking from the stairs that she had come down. The chitchat around her was lowered to hushed whispers, with the maids giggling between themselves at the incoming arrival of the two younger Stark boys.

Daisy settled behind Wanda, her jitters slowing down and her face masked with a simple smile. Wanda hoped she had the same expression, because inside she was panicking. She had to act like she had never laid eyes on him before, which she believed she could do. All she needed to do was stand there silently as they said their hellos and goodbyes. He would be gone before she could blink.

Bucky and Steve trailed behind Jarvis, already dressed in their evening tailored suits. They walked down the stairs and right into the eating quarters where the staff anxiously awaited them. Wanda realized that she was away from the entrance, towards the end of the table. Perhaps if she hid a little bit behind her mother with her chin low and eyes on the floor, he wouldn't even recognize her...

As they approached the table, everyone started clapping. The women of the staff were exceptionally cheerful, and it wasn’t by mistake. They were all gaga for Tony Stark, Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes, three highly good-looking youths who were also living in vast wealth. Since the servants couldn’t conduct the secretive (intimate) relationship they truly wanted with either of them, then they would compete for their preference, hoping to always be in their good graces. It was silly, considering neither were 21 years of age, but it went on to show how desirable the Stark scions were. The entire population wanted a piece of them, male and especially female.

The three men stood at the end of the table where Jarvis sat, him standing off to the side to allow full attention on Bucky and Steve, both who tried not to display how embarrassed they felt at the reaction of their dutiful servants. They appreciated the gesture, but it wasn’t required. Quite the opposite, it was them that deserved to be commended for their service. Yet still, they accepted their praise with a curt nod and a genuine smile, arms folded behind their backs.

"What are you going to study?" asked an excited Sadie Lawson, one of the laundry maids, when the applause slowed down.

Bucky and Steve exchanged a look of who would speak first, with Steve taking the lead. "Uh, I'll be attending the California School of Arts and Crafts, which is in Oakland," he said, instinctively clearing his throat whenever he had to speak aloud. "To earn my bachelor of fine arts' degree in painting."

There were oohs and aahs amongst the servants, who were all familiar with Steve's artistic love of drawing. His parents, specifically Howard, initially didn't think it was a practical career to have, but seeing the success of painters like Matisse and Picasso, they warmed up to the idea of their son working for the one thing he loved.

His room alone was covered in self-drawn portraits of the Stark family and his closest friends. So the servants could imagine what else he drew in his black sketch book that he carried everywhere with him. That would explain for the faintest of pencil smudges on his palms, which didn't go past Natasha.

She had been in the kitchen helping Mrs. Palazzo with dinner when she was alerted that Jarvis was bringing them down. Natasha's seat was three spots away from Jarvis', giving her an opportunity to be right in front of Steve, whose eyes lingered on her for a second longer. Natasha blinked and looked downwards, clenching her jaw to keep from smirking.

If Natasha didn't know any better (which she honestly did since Steve was most definitely not the first man, or adolescent, to steal glances), she would surmise that young Steve Rogers was already smitten. It was a stretch to go that far, but Natasha was somehow quite sure of it. And frankly, she didn't mind.

Keeping her face relatively hidden, Wanda still couldn’t help but raise her eyes past her long lashes just slightly to hear what Bucky would say.

"And I'll be going to the University of Southern California, which has a School of Business. My department is Management and Organization," Bucky informed, his confident manner a contrast to Steve's shy personality.

The servants, most of whom had education that didn’t continue past the teenage ages, were awed at not only what Bucky was going to learn, but the fact that so many universities were offering so many platforms of schooling. If a person really wanted to learn and become a professional (as well as possess lots of money), then they could really be whatever they wanted. Some of them didn’t know what exactly they wanted to be if their situation was different, but those like Jemma Simmons, Jessica Jones and Leo Fitz, they had long circled what career they craved for. Although they likely would never achieve it, they found some consolation that at least there were programs offered at universities that would expand students’ minds all around the country.

The dark-haired and olive-skinned Betty Ortega, a scullery maid from Southwest Yonkers, New York, piped up a question, "It is true that Mr. Stark wants you to run his motion picture company after he retires?"

She was immediately scolded by Mrs. Maximoff, who was right behind her, telling her that she had no right to ask that. But Bucky was more than obliged to answer; it was time to let them the obvious truth.

"Yes, that is the plan," Bucky said, his cerulean eyes wandering slowly from Betty Ortega, over Mrs. Maximoff, and landing on her daughter. It took two seconds for Wanda to sense someone eyeing her, and against her better judgment, she looked up to catch Bucky staring at her. Wanda made a noise in the back of her throat, followed by the heating of her cheeks and neck that he could provoke such sensations. Despite getting caught self-conscious, however, she couldn't tear away from his spellbound gaze. "But that won't be happening for a long time, hopefully. And we've taken enough time from you, so we’ll be going now."

And with that, Bucky and Steve retreated from the servants' quarters, no one bothering to observe how their attention span lasted a quick length of time on the two small foreign maids.

 

 

* * *

 

 

For Bucky and Steve's first dinner back home, Mrs. Palazzo prepared a favorite dish of the Starks: Tartiflette. They had been served Tartiflette on a trip to the French Alps two winters ago, and when they returned to the Manor, Howard handed Mrs. Palazzo the handwritten recipe to replicate it for them. The proud Italian woman, tiny with an impressive girth and who didn’t hesitate to yell at her kitchen maids in her native language, smiled and did as she was directed. But internally, she wished that Howard would ask her to cook more Italian dishes. It's not that she had a problem with making French ones; on the contrary, she was a fan of just about every European cuisine. But if the Starks wanted her absolute best, it came in her ethnic plates, the food she was born eating and coached by her own dear father, Giuseppe Palazzo.

Nonetheless, Mrs. Palazzo and the rest of the kitchen worked away on arranging the tartiflette and the dessert, the rum-soaked _baba au rhum_. Finishing shortly after the little impromptu visit by Steve and Bucky, she fetched the parlor maids to gather their trays while the footmen went farther down to the basement of the Manor, which was beleaguered with illegal alcoholic beverages and barrels. As the war was closing out and the prohibition lobbyists were gaining momentum, Howard listened to T'Chaka Cage's advice and smartly started stocking up on his alcohol and liquor bottles in case the government actually enforced prohibition, which he thought was flagrantly impossible.

Then Congress enacted the National Prohibition Act in 1919, and with the ratification of the 18th Amendment a year later, Prohibition had officially arrived in America. By then, though, the basement of the Manor, which had been used for old furniture, was now nearly covered in the family’s alcoholic stash. Howard believed the law was unconstitutional on grounds of trying to control the citizens on what they should and shouldn't drink. Hearing news of the previous Russian Empire turning into the communist Soviet Union, Howard used his high position in the hierarchy to criticize the congressmen’s, warning them of the consequences of enforcing law that personally entered the home of the people.

Six years later, the businessman known for his erratic behavior and philandering, was prove right. Underground crime and networks were abundant – it didn't take long for an outsider to go to New York City or Chicago and see for themselves how much the underworld has grown since Prohibition was established. Howard did his best to stay out of all that murderous mess, but he also couldn’t risk being entirely tieless. He had thousands of bottles hidden in the basement, much of it coming from his business partner and good friend T'Chaka Cage. Howard monitored how much he paid T'Chaka for the alcohol, making sure that he always gathered enough from him without leaving his fingerprints in the money exchange.

Cunningham and Murray grabbed two 1924 white wine bottles that Howard brought from Savoy, knowing that the men would drink more than usual in celebration of Bucky and Steve's graduation.

Howard sitting on one end of the wooden table brought from China, and Marian sitting on the other, Tony alone in his side across from Steve and Bucky, they prattled about the current progress of the family's two companies, Marian's recent trip to Mexico with Melinda May and Jeri Hogarth, and Tony's electrical engineering and physics studies at MIT – something that neither Bucky, Steve or their mother didn't entirely understand, Howard the lone exception.

The footmen entered the dining room, Natasha and Wanda in tow with their trays. Tony kept on speaking about the latest invention of his class, but both Bucky and Steve barely heard their brother's voice the instant they saw the maids. Bucky leaned back in his chair, tugging on his bowtie when he felt it tighten on his neck. Steve just sat there, feigning acknowledgement to Tony when really, he was trying to avert his eyes on the Russian girl, whose red hair was a vision of fire under the light of the crystal chandelier that hung atop the table.

As Natasha and Wanda laid the plates to each person, Marian remembered that she had yet to introduce the last new maid to her sons. When Wanda walked past her with the basket of fresh bread rolls, she spoke.

"Bucky, Steve," she started, gathering the courtesy of the men. She gestured towards Wanda, causing her to pause next to Mrs. Stark, and she winced internally. "I believe you haven't met Wanda, Mrs. Maximoff's daughter."

"I have." Bucky calmly declared, but he nearly broke his composure when Wanda’s head snapped at his direction, her green eyes widened with trepidation. What she had to fear, he couldn’t figure it out. However, he did conclude that she was a pretty sight when flushed.

"Oh?" Marian's brows narrowed.

 _So long Stark Manor_ , Wanda sadly thought.

"Yes, Steve and I went downstairs to say hello to the staff," Bucky explained smoothly, never tripping over his tongue or stuttering like Wanda did when lying.

"Well, that was very gallant of you two," Marian praised them with a warm smile.

Bucky hummed, his eyes carefully switching from his mother to the brunette maid, who appeared like she was breathing again in spite of the shock she was feeling and the urge to thank him a thousand times for not outing her. Bucky sneaked her a half-smile, then dared to wink at her. Wanda swallowed softly, but her servant mask was back on and she pretended like she hadn't just seen him wink. Steve would’ve cornered him afterwards for doing something so kinky in front of their parents, no less to a maid, but Bucky would be spared of it, at least for the night.

For Steve, he was too engaged in the wondrous picture of Natasha, who avoided meeting eyes with him but sensed his sly undivided attention on her throughout the dinner. Instead, she was keen on the interaction between Wanda and Bucky.

 _It looks like I am not the only one_ , Natasha smiled inwardly. She reminded herself to have a talk with Wanda about whatever she had going on with Bucky, and further speculating that Daisy wouldn't very happy to hear of Wanda's wandering eye.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i had some difficulty thinking of what profession bucky would've had, the comics don't explain a lot of who he was before he joined the army. tony is set to inherit stark industries, and with steve going off to be an artist, bucky would be the only one left to look after stark pictures, hence he's studying business.
> 
> there's also mention of T'Chaka, whom I gave the last name Cage (as in Luke Cage). more on them will be explained in the next chapter, the restaurant, speakeasy (where Bucky, Steve, Tony and their friends party) and overall crime ring they run in LA.


	4. Come on Boys, Let's Do That Messin' Around

_May 14, 1926_

From the moment he woke up, Bucky was impatient with anticipated excitement.

He couldn't stop smiling throughout breakfast and lunch, his giddiness threatening to explode with every passing minute. He just couldn't wait for nightfall, when the city was shone the brightest, especially on the weekends. Being shipped away miles north – and not to mention, too young – he hadn’t been around to experience the legendary raucous parties, but he had heard enough stories from Tony to literally dream about them. What it felt like to break the law and illegally drink and dance till dawn without a single care in the world. Now that he was 18, his parents wouldn’t hold him back. He was officially an adult and could make his own decisions and be held responsible for them. And if he wanted to party his pants off, they couldn’t do anything about it.

Baring that in mind, Bucky returned home with only one thing in mind: securing his chance to carousal at the infamous Los Angeles speakeasy, the Black Panther Bar. It was situated underneath the building that housed the restaurant Cage's, owned by the lucrative businessman T'Chaka Cage. Bucky's father and T'Chaka were good friends; if not for T'Chaka's influence in the city, it might've taken years for Stark Pictures to lift off and gain traction in the motion picture commerce.

Howard repaid the debt by sending his employees, and later his onscreen stars, to the restaurant and the secret speakeasy down below, accessible only by elevator. The constant presence of the famous actors and actresses, and the gossip reporters that followed them, paved the way for the Black Panther Bar to be the premier wet spot of Los Angeles, maybe even the whole state of California. It was _that_ prevalent, and the bar would be king, if not for its opposition, the Chikara Saloon that was overlooked by Lee Wing and his clan.

The fierce and deadly rivalry between the African-American Cages and the Japanese-American Wings was the stuff of myth, a dispute of power over who ruled the underground world of Los Angeles. By the middle of the decade, the killing sprees had raised the numbers to the ones similar to New York City and Detroit, which were completely overrun with corruption and murder. Rumor was it that because their crime war had spilled so much blood, James E. Davis, the new chief of the Los Angeles Police Department, created his "Gun Squad" to not only enforce Prohibition but keep crime out of the city, period. Meaning they wouldn’t hesitate to shoot at informants or relatives of both families. When Tony had told this to Bucky and Steve, Bucky wondered whether it had actually worked.

"Oh, it worked, alright." Tony explained to them. "But it's not because the families fear Davis and his stupid gun squad. Contrary to popular belief, neither of them want anarchy to befall on the city. They've agreed to an impasse, not just to keep Davis off their trails, but to keep their businesses afloat. However, if Davis or any of his men go after the Cages or Wings, they won't hesitate to take him down. And killing the police chief isn't really in their best interest."

Which brought Bucky back to hurriedly changing into his evening pinstripe suit and matching fedora hat. He was anxious to talk to T'Challa, Luke and Danny about any latest updates on their stalemate with the Wings and if Davis or his guns squad had interfered with them. He wanted to make sure his friends were playing it safe since there was no room for error.

Glancing at himself one last time, Bucky grinned and closed his bedroom door behind him. Down the hallway was Steve's room, and he was about to knock when it swished open. He nearly laughed at how pink Steve's face looked.

"Ready?"

"Of course," Steve scoffed, though he failed miserably to hide his insecurity. Bucky simply shook his head and the two brothers walked down the stairs in silence.

"Finally, you fellas decide to make your presence known. Thought I'd have to leave you behind," grumbled Tony, propping himself from the bannister at the bottom of the stairway. "Now, come on, I don't want to keep Pepper waiting." Cunningham held the door open as Tony walked past him to his awaiting carmine-colored 1923 Lincoln L-Series Sports Phaeton that he had gotten for his 18th birthday.

"We'll be back, Jarvis," Steve said, unnecessarily readjusting his tie.

Emerging from the hallway, erect as ever, Jarvis sternly warned, "Don't be out too late."

"We'll try not to," Bucky smirked, throwing a wink at his butler.

They settled in the back of the automobile, top down, and rode out of the Manor to Pepper Potts' place a couple blocks south. She was an only child of a family that came from oil money, and even though she was spoiled, she didn't let it go over her head. Pepper was sweet, sophisticated and not small-minded, and most importantly, so intelligent. It had been Tony who convinced Pepper to go with him to MIT, as her parents hadn't been supportive in her wish to continue her education. Her father still thought he was wasting money on Pepper learning about economics, but Pepper was too happy to even care.

When she surfaced from the exterior door frame, Bucky's jaw dropped at the sight of Tony's girlfriend, who certainly didn't resemble the Pepper he had seen over the past Christmas. Steve had to do a double-take, his eyes never once breaking away from the debutante.

Statuesque and waif thin, the black lace fringe pencil dress hung loosely on her figure. The V-neck was moderate, but didn't hide the fact that was braless. More shockingly, however, was her famous mane of red hair. Gone was the waist-length hair and bangs, and replaced by a long straight bob, angled at the tips and provided a curtain on her strong squared face. Eyes rimmed in black kohl, rouge blush on her high cheekbones and lips stained in red, Pepper was the definition of stunning.

"Goddamn, Virginia," whistled Bucky. "Where have you been hiding this bearcat?"

"Hey, cool it, dewdropper," Tony cautioned over his shoulder. Bucky raised his hands in mock surrender.

Pepper rolled her eyes at hearing him call her by her real name. She hopped in the car and leaned in to kiss Tony.

"Just catching up to the times, is all." She replied, lightly wiping off lipstick residue from Tony's cheek who smiled at her.

"You look beautiful," Steve praised her.

She turned her neck and beamed. "Thank you, Steve."

As soon as Tony hit the main road, he pressed on the gas and the Lincoln Phaeton's engine boomed. Calm wind blowing overhead, the night sky was full of little stars and the silver glow of the moon.

Tony recklessly drove down Sunset Boulevard, skipping one car after another. With each swerve, the occupants slid in their seats side to side. Pepper urged that he slow down, but he only went faster and she laughed as Bucky and Steve squirmed behind her.

They were approaching a traffic semaphore and Tony thought about running through yet another yellow light. But upon recognizing the automobile slowing ahead of him on the other lane and its rowdy passengers, Tony pressed brusquely on the brakes. The Lincoln's wheels screeched to a stop, getting the attention of the people on the opposite car.

"Well, would you look at this?" Tony droned, his arm loosely hanging out the window. 

An eruption of surprised yells ensued, a flow of eager voices drowning the street noises.

"Buck! Steve!" Sam hollered at his two best buddies, careful not to lean over too much. He was sitting on the top alongside Clint since the vehicle could only fit 4 people.

"Hey, fellas!" Clint waved, his legs resting on either side of Laura.

"Oh, Pepper, is that _you_?" An amazed Laura stood up halfway to get a good look at her.

"Love the hair, Pep!" Val gave her a thumbs up.

"Carol, _your_ hair!" Bucky gaped at the owner of the car. Her long wavy blonde hair, a physical part of her that he had loved beside her pretty brown eyes, was no more. In its stead was a pixie cut, adorned with a silver headpiece. Carol and Pepper reminded Bucky of those scandalous, chain-smoking gals from Christmas vacation in Miami whose behavior had horrified his mother. Flappers, they called themselves.

Pepper showered praise. "You girls look beautiful!"

Amid the loud overlapping conversations, former couple Steve and Peggy were quiet. Peggy, sitting on the passenger side, threw a shy glance at Steve, who smiled thinly and waved with his first two fingers. She blushed and turned away, brows furrowing as Sam started getting up.

"Ya'll got room in there?" Sam pointed at the backseat of Tony's car as he tried to move past Clint.

"Yeah!" Bucky affirmed, who quickly followed suit and extended his arm to Sam. In one rapid second, a struggling Sam clutched onto Bucky's hand and jumped from Carol's car to Tony's. Sam's landing shook the car, him falling awkwardly in the tight space between Bucky and Steve. His foot scrapped on Steve's knee, who yelped and playfully shoved Sam.

"Uh," Thor tapped on Carol's shoulder. "Light is green."

"Last one there is a rotten egg!" challenged Carol, who proceeded to accelerate so fast and abrupt that the car's tires skidded before it zoomed ahead, causing Clint to firmly grasp onto Laura's hand while the other flung backwards on the trunk due to the forward progress.

Without any hesitation, Tony commandeered his Lincoln back to life, briefly displacing Sam who was still attempting to accommodate himself next to Bucky and Steve.

The two automobiles raced down the streets of downtown Los Angeles, capturing the eyes of citizens taking a night stroll. The passengers keenly begged the drivers to go faster, faster, faster! Before long, Tony caught up to Carol, and winked at her when a right turn allowed him the edge. Sam, standing on his knees, guffawed and ridiculed at Clint's whines that they were getting beat.

Then when Tony came up behind a slow car, he peeked to his left to skip it, but Carol took advantage and raced up, thus preventing him from changing lanes unless he wanted to cause an accident. Tony was forced to wait until Carol advanced, which gave her the lead. Mimicking Sam's earlier chortles, Clint pointed at Sam, his and Thor's wicked laughs echoing in front of them.

Soon as he was given the chance, Tony changed lanes and skipped the car that honked at them, pushing full throttle to catch Carol. The parking lot to Cage's was fast approaching at the next left turn. Gearing themselves ready for the turn that could very well throw them out, Pepper hung onto Tony's shoulder while Bucky, Sam, and Steve intertwined arms.

There were two incoming cars on the opposite side of the road, but both Tony and Carol paid no mind to it. Their feet lifted off the gas and surged on the brake as they steered the automobiles into the turn, provoking adrenaline-filled yells from the passengers.

"Oh, _shiiiiiiiiit_!" Sam howled, his entire body thrown onto Steve's, squishing him when combined with Bucky's weight. At the same time, Pepper squealed " _Tonyyyyyyyyyy_!", bracing her neck and squeezing her eyes when seeing the incoming two cars closing in on them. 

In the other car, Clint's legs instinctively wrapped securely on Laura but during the turn he had to be restrained by his girlfriend and Thor to keep him getting thrown.

Rubber burned on the asphalt, creating ear-splitting shrieks. The drivers quickly regained control but Carol, who had left her foot on the brake pedal a second too long, didn't rebound in time. Tony did and sped past Carol, careening into the lot. His eyes easily spotted a parking space and rolled right into it, Carol on his trails and she took the space beside.

Once the vehicle was stationary and no longer in the road, Bucky released a heaving breath he hadn't known he'd been hiding.

"Damn!" Carol grunted, slamming her palms on the wheel once coming to a complete stop.

"You're a good driver, Danvers. Just not as good as me," said an exhilarated Tony.

Carol scoffed. "Oh, stuff it, Stark!"

After organizing their windswept hair and clothes, the group crossed the street to Cage's. There was a sign hanging on the door that said "Closed" but they walked in anyways, finding the place dark and empty, except for the faintest murmur of jazz music coming from underneath them.

Val reached into her bra and flipped open her compact mirror, unsure about her makeup.

Sensing her self-doubt, Thor nudged her. "Jou look beautiful, Valkyrie." This earned him a peck to the lips.

"Oooh, lemme see that for a sec," Laura was handed the compact and she checked her red lipstick hadn't smudged.

They brazenly crossed the entire restaurant, curving to a dead-end hallway where the bathrooms were. Across the men's restrooms, was an undistinguished black door with a hatch. Tony knocked three times, pausing after the first two. The hatch clicked open, revealing a pair of dark eyes that assessed them.

"Password," beckoned a low tenor voice.

Tony rolled his eyes, smacking his teeth. "You know who we are, W’Kabi,"

The eyes narrowed. "Password." He repeated.

"Er–what day is it today?" Tony asked.

"Friday," Clint sighed behind him.

"Ah, Friday," Tony mused, looking at the man. "Wakanda."

The hatch was then sealed, and after a series of locks being unlocked, the door opened, showing that it wasn't entrance to a room but to an elevator shaft. The tall dark man, W'Kabi his name was, wearing a fedora and slacks, stood by as the group entered. He then closed the door and the elevator started moving down to the basement, where the jazz music and boisterous chattering of people grew exponentially.

They touched ground, and once W'Kabi slid another door to open, the group was immediately deafened by the orchestra playing on the stage and the bright twinkling of the crystal chandeliers hanging above. Bucky fleetingly thought if this is what Heaven resembled.

"Welcome back to the Black Panther," W'Kabi saluted with a crafty smirk.

To listen to the smooth and soulful jazz music on the radio was one thing, but to see the whole band, comprised of trumpets and trombones and saxophones and clarinets and drums and a piano, up there on the stage playing in the same room, was perhaps the most enlightening sensation Bucky had ever felt. It was the loveliest sound, a melody that gave the players freedom to do what they want, to improvise on the tune, but to also always be responsible for the ensemble. Jazz music wasn’t totally written down; it was spontaneous and spur of the moment, feeding to its listeners what they must be feeling in that exact moment of time. And Bucky was practically shaking in his shoes to get immersed into that impulsiveness, for he had been too far away in the steady and undeviating world of boring ol' boarding school.

Tony, Pepper, Thor, and Val went straight to the bar that encompassed a whole wall. There were tables and leather booths all around, the place crawling with men in pinstripe suits and women in free-flowing flapper dresses. Smoke permeated the speakeasy like a fog, but the lights were so brightly shone that a drunk person wouldn’t respond nicely to the light-headed aura it gave due to the black damask wallpaper and red curtains draped everywhere.

There was a dance floor that was crowded with couples, old and young, flailing their arms and legs. They shook their entire bodies, not caring for how wet the floor was, or that is was coated in balloons and peacock feathers and broken glass. Their laughter circulated around the music in perfect synchrony. It was also a little bit too humid, but Bucky suspected it was purposefully done so the patrons would keep refilling their goblets.

Standing by the entrance, too much in awe of the profound scene unmasking, Bucky and Steve were rooted to the spot. They saw Rhodey, Sam's cousin, and Tony's MIT peers, Bruce Banner and Stephen Strange, lounging on one of the couches, trashing in hilarity and with bootlegging booze pouring out of their champagne glasses at something Thor said. The girls were already dancing in what Steve believed was the black bottom.

"Make way for the cake-eaters, everybody! Make way!"

Bucky tore his attention from Carol's bouncing figure and was greeted with the widest pair of grins. Strutting towards him and Steve with the egoistical confidence that they showed off but didn’t actually have because they were much more kindred in spirit, were Danny Rand and Luke Cage, wards of T'Chaka Cage. Both had been orphaned at young ages, and turned to petty crime. Carl Lucas' giant build made a first impression when T'Chaka's men had caught him trying to steal a bottle. With Daniel Rand, it had been his lost puppy face that had T'Chaka asking what was he wanted most in life. Danny aspired to be a filmmaker, just like Howard Stark. Feeling his old friend would help out, T'Chaka got Danny a job as the Stark family chauffeur, but it didn't last long, as Danny didn't actually want to work for Stark. He preferred the bootlegging business that T'Chaka conducted, the shady business of it all, and just like with Luke, T'Chaka took him under his wing, and along with his only son T'Challa, the three men run the Black Panther whenever T'Chaka is unavailable, which are most nights.

"Don't call us that," Steve chuckled with a slight blush as Luke and Danny gave them each a fierce hug.

"Oh, I’m sorry," Danny apologized, and then pointed directly at Bucky. "Steve ain't no cake-eater, but you pretty boy, I swear you get better-lookin' every damn time I see you."

Danny pinched Bucky's cheek, only to get his arm slapped away but it caused Danny to laugh even more.

"Leave him alone," Luke said. "Hey, congrats to the both of you on graduating. Not many of us have the opportunity to go to school, so props to you on that."

"Is it true you're going to college too?" Danny asked.

"Yup. But I'd rather not talk about education here," Bucky said, taking a drink from Danny and passing it to Steve before getting one himself.

"Well, here's to good ole education," Luke cheered.

"And God help the uneducated four-flushers!" Danny added. They clinked their glasses and downed the shots of tequila. Steve's tongue stuck out from the foul taste, but Bucky exhaled and his eyes grew. It was as if the illicit intoxicating world of booze and smoking and dancing had thrown a lasso at him, wrapped tightly onto his hip, and pulled him into the luminous glitter and dazzle of the speakeasy.

 _I've been away from all of_ this _,_ he thought astoundingly.

"Come here," Danny jovially grabbed Steve around his shoulders. "I missed you, Steve-o!"

Sometime later, after Bucky had consumed liters of alcohol and danced his butt off on the dance floor with girls he hadn't cared to know their names, he sat on the couch, sweat beading on his forehead. His hair was a mess and his jacket had long been discarded. A burning fag hanging from the corner of mouth and a half-empty sidecar in his hand, Bucky turned to T'Challa, who was sitting beside him, not nearly as drunk as him, staring aimlessly at his girlfriend Nakia dancing.

"Hey – I've-a been meanin' to-to talk to ya 'bout ya father," Bucky slurred.

T'Challa snorted at his inebriation. "What about my father?"

"Is he alrigh'? Tony, he said–he said tha' 'Two-Gun Davis'," Bucky spat at the moniker of the LAPD chief. "Had it out for ya father. I jus' wanted to make sure he–he was alrigh', ya know."

T'Challa, softened by Bucky's worry, smiled concisely and looked at him dead in the eyes as he replied efficiently, "Nothing will happen to him. I can assure you of that."

Had Bucky been sober, he would've been stilled at how confident T'Challa seemed to say those words. But he simply hmphed in response and swallowed the rest of the sidecar, digging the cig on the ashtray and rising to his feet that carried him to Carol's embrace with only half of his brain working.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Outside of the servants' quarters, in a little lawn that was circled with oak trees and two wooden tables for them to sit and relax in for breaks and after hours, were the valets of the Stark sons. Leo Fitz, the Scottish export whose eager interest in engineering always entertained Bucky, sat on one of those tables, arms crossed close over his chest with his shoulders slouched. Across from him, Lance Hunter and Grant Ward shared a cigarette and calmly drank cheap liquor from Grant's pewter flask, graciously provided by no other than Tony Stark.

The rest of the staff had retired to bed, but the valets stayed out late, enjoying the quietness of nature around them and the fact that they didn't have to hear Mrs. Palazzo's constant yammering or Mrs. Stark's uppidy demands.

"So," Grant puffed a smoke. "I heard that Danny Rand may have himself a little Jane,"

"With those blue eyes and blonde curls of his, that's not really surprising," commented Lance.

Grant smirked. "You'll never guess who."

"Oh, just get it over with, will ya? I ain't got all night," Lance complained.

"Who is it?" Leo quietly inquired; he too, was quite interested in the gossip that Grant somehow always managed to hear.

"I don't know if it's true or not, so don't go off quotin' me, okay?"

Leo and Lance nodded.

"So, I heard that Danny – _Danny Rand_ , who's now runnin' aroun' with the Cages - is out there doing the nookie... with _Colleen Wing_!"

Lance sneered outright, while Leo's eyes expanded in mini-shock.

"Yeah, _right_ ," Lance scoffed, taking a swig at the flask. "God, you hang out with females too often. Not turnin' into one, are ya?" Lance made a move for Grant's pants, but Grant yelled out an "Eh!" and defended himself by swapping his hands away and sliding a bit farther down the bench.

"That doesn't make sense, though," Leo wondered, ignoring the men's cavorts. "Danny knows the Wings are the archenemy of the Cages. Why would he risk unleashing T'Chaka's rage?"

Grant shrugged, leaning to take the flask. "Maybe he cares for her."

Lance grabbed the flask before Grant could, shooting him an annoyed side-eye, and grumbled, "Danny's not that stupid. He may a lotta things, that idiot, but he's not _stupid_."

There was a lenient sound of a door unlocking. The valets turned to see it open from the inside, followed by the small shape of a woman appearing halfway hidden by it, wind flowing against her nightgown. Hair braided messy on her back, she yawned and rubbed her eyes.

"What are you doing? I can hear you from my room," Wanda sniffled.

"Oh, sorry, we'll be goin' now," Leo said, checking his watch and realizing just how late it was, got up from the table. Grant finished the cigarette while Lance took one last gulp of the liquor, his jaw clenching at the strong taste, and gave it back to Grant.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> speakeasies are by far my favorite part of the roaring twenties, much more than the flappers or the fast cars or the jazz. they were illegal, but that didn't stop people from clamoring to them. in a way, it was actually a good thing. not only were women allowed to drink and mingle alongside men (something that used to be unfathomable), but for once, color of skin didn't matter. people of all races were welcomed into speakeasies.
> 
> some 20s slang words used in this chapter:  
> -bearcat: a hot-blooded or fiery girl  
> -dewdropper: a young man who sleeps all day and doesn't have a job  
> -cake-eater: a lady's man  
> -four-flusher: a person who feigns wealth while mooching off others  
> -Jane: any female  
> -nookie: sex


	5. Some of These Days

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so I'm back from my LA trip and... wow. Visiting so many historic and famous places and streets and signs, it was just simply amazing. touring film studios, driving through the neighborhood where Stark Manor is located, and touring the Greystone Mansion, which is *the* influence for Stark Manor, gave me lots of new insight i would've not gotten anywhere else. i feel like a totally new person when writing this story now lol.

_May 15, 1926_

Bucky didn't know much about hangovers. He knew his limit, rejecting drinks when his speech became too slurred to form a single word and the world wouldn't stop spinning. If he could take a guess, the last time he had really gone bent, was the night that his hero Babe Ruth and the New York Yankees won the franchise's first World Series. He had only been 15, but he had been so overjoyed by the long-awaited win - against the New York Giants, no less, for the third straight year - that he couldn't remember anything that happened after his father offered him a tall glass of moonshine.

The other drunk nights that would come intermittently over the next three years couldn't compare to the Yankees' championship.

And now that rather prestigious sentiment was applied to last night. Because he couldn't remember for the life of him how he got home, and in one piece.

His final coherent thought was dancing with Carol and Valkyrie. By then, Thor had passed out, because if he hadn't been, then he would've taken issue with him dancing with his girlfriend. Bit possessive, that Swedish oaf was.

But then... did him falling and busting his ass, causing Sam and Stephen to have a fit of the giggles... did that come before or after Carol and Val? Bucky wasn't sure. He also didn't know why he had the memory of taking several shots with Danny, Clint and Tony.

But whatever the hell happened, it happened and now Bucky was left dealing with a battering hangover.

It was the rumbling of his stomach that woke Bucky from his deep sleep. Groggy with a headache, he slowly trudged to the bathroom sink, dressed in just his underwear and socks.

Arms stretched to touch the wall, door, then the sink. His eyes were too heavy and crusted, and being in the darkened room, he probably resembled like the monster Frankenstein from the Mary Shelley novel.

Without bothering to flick on the light, Bucky turned on the cold water and splashed his face. He was in the midst of massaging his worn eyes when he smelled something foul. One eye popping open, he turned to the source of the stinky odor.

In the toilet, unflushed, was the remnants of vomit. He reached back to turn on the light as his other eye unfastened. Groaning in frustration, Bucky covered his nose and flushed it.

He proceeded to brush his teeth, and especially his tongue. He wanted to wipe away any leftover taste of alcohol, as much as he could, seeing as his stomach was still in knots and his back of his head ached.

Afterwards, he teetered to his closet, a bit annoyed that the heaviness hadn't left his puffy face. He had on his slacks, unzipped, and an under shirt when there was a tap on his door.

"Buck?"

"Ugh, what does this punk want?" Bucky grumbled under his breath, but didn't move.

A second passed, and then the door was slightly opened, Steve's head poking through the threshold. His eyes widened at the curtains drawn and Bucky struggling to put his arm inside the sleeve of his dress shirt.

"It's a good thing we left the time we did," Steve pointed out as he closed the door behind him.

"When was that?"

"A quarter to two,"

The dress shirt hanging on his shoulders, Bucky's arms went limp by his sides. "I didn't even make it to two," he bemoaned.

"Don’t feel bad, it wasn't just you. Tony tryin' to jump on the stage and play the piano shortened our night."

Bucky snorted; he couldn't even fathom the idea of Tony going anywhere near an instrument. "Tony wanted to play the _piano_?"

"That's not even touching the tip of the iceberg," Steve chuckled.

His head started buzzing again, so Bucky shoved aside his shoes and laid on his bed in an effort to stop the dizzy spell.

With his swollen eyes closed, Bucky curiously asked, "What else we do last night?"

Steve cocked a brow. "D'you really wanna know?"

Instead of answering, Bucky patted the space next to him. Steve removed his hands from his pockets and sat down as he, the only non-inebriated Stark, reminisced about quite possibly the craziest night of his life yet.

"Well... for starters, it wasn't just you two hooligans that ransacked the place. Sam, Clint, Carol, Thor, the whole lot of ya just couldn't control yourselves. Rhodey was already half seas over by the time we got there. I'd lost count of how many times everyone went to the bathroom. And then combined with the dancin' and smokin', it was just... chaotic, really."

Wanting to get confirmation that he hadn't imagined it, Bucky asked, "Did I fall?"

"Yeah," Steve chuckled. "Yeah, you did. Twice, actually. The second time, you took Laura with you."

Bucky's eyes snapped open - he hadn't remembered _that_. "What?"

Steve nodded. "I think you were tryin' to climb on the bar and Danny, who was just as wasted, pulled you down. I guess he scared you because you grabbed onto Laura who was next to you and drinkin' a beer. It spilled all over her but she didn't care 'cause she made Clint lick it off her neck an' chest."

Rolled on one side of body, head propped up by the palm of his hand, Bucky was awakening with more interest.

"Towards the end, Thor and Val spent most of it neckin'. You and Tony were splittin' time between the bar and the dance floor. Clint sprained his wrist, don't know how, so he and Laura actually fell asleep. Carol drunkenly kissed another girl, no surprise there - " Bucky's mouth twitched into a smile hearing that. "And Bruce, Stephen and I were left to babysit yall."

Bucky couldn't help the little wince he showed. Must've been pretty miserable for them to look after their friends instead of joining them in the festivities. "Sorry about that."

Steve smiled and waved his wrist on the air. "Nah, it's jake. You know I'm not a heavy drinker anyways."

At that, Bucky nodded. He then shook his head and _tsked_ , it was unbelievable just how out of control Steve described him and their friends. Some of it was almost too crazy to believe, but if there was one thing that Steve never did, was being dishonest. The boy was practically born with a halo.

"There was also somethin' you said, somethin' that was... I don't know, odd."

"Wha's that?"

His brother was silent, then spoke lowly, "You kept repeatin' the name Wanda."

Growing up as the kid of an unyielding businessman like Howard Stark, constantly in the spotlight because of his father’s inventions industry and later movie-making career, Bucky quickly learned what it took to have a poker face. His father was a master at hiding his real feelings, he always had on a neutral and indecipherable expression that kept people on edge because they couldn’t ever get a read on him. Tony could somewhat have an impassive face, but he was often too eccentric for it to fully work, and Steve unapologetically wore his heart on his sleeve. But Bucky, he was good at being smooth and mysterious, and it would come in handy when taking over a business like show business.

But Bucky also knew that when it came to his brothers, especially Steve, his façade didn't have nearly the same effect as with other people. They knew Bucky too well, too much – they were brothers, after all, it was inevitable. So while Bucky simply scoffed, looking Steve dead in the eyes, and then bent down to retrieve his shoes, he knew Steve was already expecting him to lie.

"There's lots of missing gaps in my memory of last night, but that, I can assure you, was not one of 'em."

The silence that followed as Bucky calmly finished dressing himself for breakfast was almost too much for him to bear. He wanted to tell Steve to stop staring at him and go downstairs, to leave him alone and not remind him of the little maid that he may or may not have thought of last night in the pools of his hardcore drinking.

"Well… I'm only sayin' because we know a Wanda. That's Mrs. Maximoff's daughter."

The clench on Bucky's jaw was unmistakable, even in the dark surroundings of his room. Watching him intently fixing his shirt in front of the vanity mirror, Steve realized he had touched a nerve. But as quick as the tension filled them, it was gone and Bucky cleared his throat – he was ready to eat, and for this conversation to be over.

"I highly doubt I mentioned Mrs. Maximoff's _daughter_ ," Bucky said as he beckoned Steve into the hallway. "Now, c'mon, don’t want breakfast to get cold."

Bucky wasn't necessarily glaring at him, but his sudden brash attitude was a sign for Steve to just drop the subject and shut up. He did, but as Steve walked past him, he eyed Bucky, telling him that they weren't done.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Howard and his wife had already finished eaten half an hour before their sons finally walked into the breakfast room, but they remained at the table while the boys cautiously ate their slices of toasted bread and bacon, scrambled eggs and fruit.

"Was Mr. Cage there?" Howard asked, not looking up from his newspaper.

Steve sipped his coffee, waiting for either of his brothers to respond. But Tony was cowering in his chair, using his hand to hide his eyes from the sunlight, and Bucky was staring off into space, nibbling on his toast and salted crackers.

Marian raised a questionable brow at Steve, and so he promptly gulped down the coffee, placed the cup down and replied, "No, but he sent his congratulations through Luke."

Howard hummed in response and said nothing else, until he was done reading and he flipped the newspaper, handing it over to Jarvis. He took a sip of his black coffee and observed Tony and Bucky, both of whom looked more like sloths at how painstakingly slow they were eating. This didn't sit well with him.

"This oughta teach you not to drink so damn much," Howard grumbled. "You're lucky Steve is the only sane one here, because if he hadn't been there takin' care of you two, then Lord knows if you would've made it home. Or worse, spend a night in jail!"

Tony groaned at his father's outburst. He shoved aside his plate and smashed his face into his palms.

"Don't start, father, please." Tony mumbled.

Howard opened his mouth to continue, but stopped when Marian's warm and small hand closed on his compressed fist. She smiled cautiously at him, wordlessly letting him know now wasn't the time to disparage them.

"The good thing is that didn't occur," she pressed softly. "You three are home, safe and sound."

"Just... next time you go out, have some sense and not over drink yourselves. We're still in Prohibition, you know." Howard huffed, though with less malice.

"We know, father," Bucky answered quietly as he took another tiny bite of his wheat toast. He didn't miss the little smile aimed at him from his mother that was a mixture of _This is what you get for drinking so much_ and _Thank you for being respectful to your father despite it_.

"And now that you three are here," Howard declared as he rose and stood behind the antique Queen Anne chair, holding onto the arms, looking a lot like the king he knew himself to be. "I wanted to let you know that Stark Pictures has just wrapped our newest film, _In the Name of Love_. As such, in a week, the Manor will be hosting a party in celebration of finishing our costliest film to date, and I expect not just your mother, but all three of my sons to be there for support."

"Of course, father," Steve assured him immediately after taking a sideward glance at his two hungover brothers and their complete lack of emotion at the news. "We wouldn't miss it for anything."

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Downstairs in the dining hall, the staff eat their breakfast just as they were done serving the Starks. Wanda sat in between her mother and brother, quietly chewing on Mrs. Palazzo's delicious sugared biscuits. She was often silent at the table, preferring to hear the news and gossip of town from her co-workers than hearing her own timid voice. Since it was still a bit difficult to read English, it was better for her to hear it. And much of what was said at the table wasn't in the newspaper anyways.

"I wonder if Dolores Costello would come to the party," Daisy mused aloud. "I hear she and John Barrymore got along more than well on _The Sea Beast_."

"Now, Daisy, don't speak that kind of suggestive language at the table," Jarvis reprimanded her.

"Nah, I doubt it. They're both over at Warner Brothers, and we know how Mr. Stark feels about them," Jessica remarked.

"Well, they _are_ Mr. Stark's rival, just like MGM, United, Paramount, Universal. Why not hold them in contempt?" Jemma asked. "If I was him, I wouldn't invite any actors that are not under contract at Stark Pictures. Gotta keep the competition race churnin'."

"But Stark Pictures isn't up there with those other companies," stated Jessica. "Which is why he invites actors from those companies to come to his parties, so he can work that charm of his and convince them to switch to his company when their contracts are up."

"And how you know this, Miss Jones?" Mrs. Palazzo asked, waving her fork at Jessica.

Jessica smirked and shrugged, innocently dipping into her bowl and swallowing some vegetables soup. "I have my ways, Mrs. P."

"Betcha it's by openin' up them long gams," Grant jested under his breath, but it was clear enough for Lance and Pietro to snicker from across the table, and the other girls to concentrate on their food as if it was the most beautiful thing they'd seen. Jessica, on the other hand, gasped and reached for a bread roll, ready to fling it at Grant, etiquette be damned, but froze at the sound of Jarvis' voice.

"Please, lest not speak about topics that concern Mr. Stark and his work, which absolutely don't concern us," Jarvis demanded. If they did, he would do what he did last time when they had conversed about Stark Pictures and the gossip around Hollywood, which was just outright ban talking for the entirety of the mealtime.

"You're right, Mr. Jarvis," Daisy said, hoping to get on his good side again. Jarvis looked at her blankly, so she continued to explain. "I guess we're all eager about a celebrity party, aren't we? I know you are, Wanda."

Wanda's eyes widened at the mention of her name, but she was thankful that nobody aside from Daisy and her brother noticed her surprised reaction. She simply nodded, thinking of saying nothing, but that turned out to be a mistake, as Jessica spoke for her, and it was never good when someone as mischievously blunt as Jessica did.

"Oh yeah, that she is. Don't say much, but don't mean she ain't star struck like the rest of us," she chuckled.

"Uh –" Wanda stuttered, not knowing how to respond without revealing too much. It was the truth, she was equally star struck by the amount of celebrities that she had served since she got to the Manor, silent film actors that she had idolized as a child. It was the best thing about the job, the chance to even be in the same room as her idols, perhaps might even get thanked for her service. It was such a rush of excitement, it left her entranced at the end of every night after party. But she was mindful not to be too over the top, and Jarvis made sure to constantly remind them to stay professional. Wanda didn’t join discussions like the one they were having, because she knew it bothered Jarvis, and she didn’t want to get reprimanded by him so early in her employment over something silly as that.

Wanda cleared her throat and modestly said, "You are right, Jessica."

"Yes, Miss Jones, you are, and now we must all be heading to our duties for the day," her mother announced. With that, Wanda sighed relief while everyone got up from their seats and scampered off. She didn’t miss the playful sneer on Daisy and Jessica's faces.

As she went to grab her checklist, a pair of blue eyes appeared in Wanda's head. She wondered if Mr. Barnes would attend the party, hoping he would. There would be nothing more dapper than Mr. Barnes in an evening suit.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> don't think that bucky will get away with randomly mentioning wanda's name; his friends noticed.
> 
> 1920s slang:
> 
> -Bent: drunk  
> -Half seas over: drunk  
> -Jake: okay, fine  
> -Gams: legs


	6. Why Do I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> long chapter compared to the rest. gonna try to keep most of them short so i don't give too much away :)

_May 15, 1926 - continued_

Considering how intoxicated his friends had been not even 24 hours earlier, Steve was stunned to see Peggy, Carol and Sam appear at his doorstep for their planned luncheon date at noon.

He had pondered whether they, especially Sam and Carol, would've even remembered, even bothered to show up after the foolishness that had gone down at the Black Panther, no thanks to them. Once the door bell had rung and Jarvis let them in, it put a real smile on Steve's face. He was proud that they had made it. Not that he personally knew the effects of a hangover, but obviously it wasn't a pleasant one, so Steve felt very considerate of them for gathering up the strength to honor their commitment – even if they looked like they had gotten an hour of sleep with their bloodshot eyes and dark circles under them.

"Who drove over here?" Steve asked with a chuckle as they walked on the marble floors of the Manor's lobby to the main hall. He had never seen either three of them tired and short of breath and just completely out of it.

Carol raised an index finger with no enthusiasm capable of mustering. "I did. Originally it was supposed to have been Sam but when I telephoned his house, the sap was still in bed."

"Hey! I'm here, ain't I?" Sam gestured, turning around to face them as he paced backwards. He attempted to appear alert, but his small eyes were even more heavy, and his dark skin was paler than usual.

Bucky snorted, "Yeah, lookin' dead."

Sam scoffed and rolled his eyes, but said nothing and resumed walking the right away again, ahead of the rest of the youths. They entered the parlor, the most formal room the Manor offered to its guests. Designed to show a family's wealth, all of their most expensive furnishings, rugs and art work that Howard has brought back throughout his numerous trips around the world was put on display in the parlor. It was decorated in beautiful rich colors, ranging from gold, brown, burgundy, and green, with sheer cream-colored drapes over the large windows that gave a mesmeric backdrop view of the high altitude the mansion was located in the ravine of the Santa Monica Mountains. From the parlor, they could see the whole city, acting as its guard from up above.

The five of them took their seats on the two antique canapés brought from France that were parallel to the intricately styled Victorian mantel clock and fireplace, which was covered with an ornamental screen. Steve opted to sit beside Sam, while Bucky, Carol and Peggy sat across from them. For a splitting second, Steve had thought Peggy was going to join him, but one fleeting look from him caused her to pause momentarily. She then went on to take her spot next to Carol, and Steve’s heart fell. Not even two weeks had passed since they broke up, and already Peggy was treating him like a stranger.

"Where're your parents?" wondered Carol, crossing her legs and leaning into the corner of the canapé.

"Father went with Tony to headquarters and mother…" Bucky's brows furrowed, causing creased lines on his forehead. "Mother went off to socialize with Coulson's wife, I believe."

"I honestly don't understand why they are still married," Carol commented disapprovingly. She reached into her little dangling purse and removed a pack of cigarettes. She flicked on the lighter, inhaled from the cig, and puffed smoke from her shiny red lips.

Not that Steve would dare say it aloud, but he too was curious about that certain coupling. For as long as Steve could remember, producers Phil Coulson and Jeri Hogarth were a happily-married pair who were also irreplaceable pieces of Stark Pictures. Without their shared contributes in tirelessly overlooking the craft of every film released by them, the company would've dithered without a fighter's chance.

In Steve's eyes, they were his father’s filmmaking saviors. It seemed nothing could touch them, nothing could ruin the tantalizing chemistry they had, and as an adolescent involved with his first love, Steve wished his marriage would mirror that of his parents and the Coulsons.

But in a terribly ironic twist that was straight out of a Hollywood script, their picture-perfect marriage was pretense. Jeri was a lesbian, forced to marry her good friend Phil when they were both nearing the late age of 30. To the world, they displayed themselves to be madly in love, but behind closed doors, they slept in separate beds and conducted extramarital affairs. It was a toss-up as to whether the marriage had been consummated since they had no children, there weren’t even rumors of a miscarriage. They were companions who worked greatly together, but at the end of the day, there was no real love. Steve was left thinking how could that type of dynamic work after so many years.

"Well, they can't divorce, if that's what you're implying. Mr. Stark would never allow it," said Peggy as she waved the cloud of smoke from her nose.

"I wouldn't say that. It's no secret that Jeri's queer, the whole town knows," Bucky said, signaling for the cig from Carol. She passed it behind Peggy's back, and after Bucky took a puff, he continued. "But she hasn't told my father that to his face, and maybe that's what he's waitin' for. For one of them to be frank about it. Otherwise…"

"But," Peggy sighed, her nose scrunching and her head shaking back and forth, the curls bouncing on her ears under her hat. "If your father knows that this marriage is a sham, then why not approach them? If Jeri and Phil haven't, then that means they're worried about how he would react. And they shouldn't. Your father isn't prejudiced against homosexuals."

"No, but my father, he isn't a people-person. Emotions and feelin's, that's not his forte," Bucky explained. He eased his arm on the armrest while he used his other hand to scratch the back of his neck, yawning exhaustedly.

"Lord knows I had to deal with that with my own father," Carol chuckled darkly, stubbing her cigarette on the silver ashtray laying on the mahogany coffee table in between the canapés.

"How’s he takin' it, by the way?" Sam pondered from his corner of the sofa. His knuckles were smushed against his cheek, rest of the limb supported by the armrest, and Steve could swear he was slowly but surely falling asleep.

"Think's it's a 'phase' I'll out-grow," Carol scorned. "Bushwa is what I say! I know my damn self, for crying out loud. It's not a phase. I know what interests me: not only guys but gals too. I don't want to be in the situation Hogarth is in. A traditional life is _no_ life! I don’t want a husband, I want a person, regardless of social class, to love me and respect me for who I am," she professed passionately, bringing her voice down at the raised brows of her companions, and then sadly whispered, "Is that too much to ask?"

Steve smiled sincerely. "Of course not."

Carol's head titled upwards, her frown turning into a small smile that could be interpreted as shy, and Carol was never one to be shy about anything.

The kindness in Steve's voice didn't go unnoticed by Peggy either, whose deep brown eyes glittered at him, or rather, for him, like they always did when she was emotionally moved.

He was beginning to feel that pull again, a weird sense of an intimate pull that had yet to be fully broken despite the end of their relationship. It was tugging at the pit of his stomach, wanting to reach Peggy. Steve nearly gave in to the desire, his feet already set to get up and take her out to the balcony. Converse any topic, it didn't matter to him. All he wanted was to be alone with Peggy Carter.

Then, directly behind Peggy, crossing the threshold into the parlor, was the color red. Red hair neatly tucked in the confines of a plain white maid hat.

In an instant, red replaced brown.

 _Natasha_.

Carrying a tray of refreshments. In tow of Wanda, whose tray was replete with turkey sandwiches and chocolate chip cookies.

He couldn't stare, it was rude manner of a gentleman to stare at a dame, servant or not. But since meeting her, it had dawned on him that when in her presence, he had no control over his eyes. They longed to be on her, to follow her every step. If he looked away, he was afraid that he wouldn't see her again. Foolish thinking that was since she worked for them, but it only emphasized the iron grip the mysterious Russian maid was clamping on Steve.

Nevertheless, Steve averted his attention when she neared them. He didn't want her to catch him ogling. Not her, not Bucky or Sam or Carol, and especially not Peggy.

He kindly accepted a sandwich from Wanda despite not being hungry. Sleep and breakfast had alleviated his queasy stomach, ridding the scanty nausea that only a few drinks had caused.

Natasha followed after Wanda, and Steve quickly found it increasingly hard to avoid the redhead in that moment. She was an arm's stretch away, offering them glasses of fresh lemonade. He could practically smell her scent, composed of lilac perfume and soap. A heavenly scent that he'd never get tired of sniffing.

She lowered herself briefly, glass in her hand. The manner she did, however, was so captivating that Steve forgot where he was. Time came to a melodic pause at the sight of her face, those plump pink lips whose breath seeped through tickled the tip of his nose.

For a fraction of a second, Steve cared of nothing except her. He gazed into her eyes, wonderfully surprised to discover that they weren't entirely green. It was an amalgam of green and blue, the pupils surrounded by the faintest specks of brown. To him, they were the most marvelous blend of eyes to exist.

Then she blinked, effectively ending the moment. Steve's slightly quivering hand grasped the glass and Natasha retreated immediately, but not fast enough to conceal the rush of color appearing on her cheeks.

And just as fast as red had replaced brown, it circled back around with an abrupt halt. Peggy and her curious doe eyes, constantly aware of everything. The arch on her brow lifting ever so slightly, peering quizzically at him, Steve cursed at himself. The _one_ person he had wanted to keep in the dark about whatever he was feeling for Miss Romanoff, and he had paraded his interest right in front of her.

Because he was in the presence of company and not alone to berate himself, Steve lightly cleared his throat, parched all of a sudden. 

The two maids left for a second journey to the kitchen to bring up more sandwiches. The ravenous way that Carol and Sam ate bite after bite brought a pang of pity to rack through Steve; the poor kids were running on empty engines.

With Natasha's absence, the sound of voices slowly returned to his ears. Or rather, one pestering voice that belonged to Sam Wilson, babbling like always. 

"...too pretty if you ask me. But then again, I'd probably convince my parents to get a lovely lookin' one too," Sam said airily after munching down a whole sandwich in less than a minute. "And did I hear her name correctly? Wendy... Wanda, you said?"

Bucky wore a confused expression as he nodded questionably. A devilish smirk became plastered on Sam's playful mouth.

 _Oh boy, this isn't good_ , Steve thought. 

"Is that the Wanda you were referring to last night? Your _maid_?" Sam sniggered.

"Ah _yeeeeah_ , Bucky. Care to explain?" Carol egged on, wiggling her brows in amusement.

"Oh no, not you two too!" Bucky whined in exasperation, placing his untouched plate of sandwich on the table. "I don't wanna hear this baloney."

"C'mon, don't get sour on us!" Sam cried, his frisky smile going nowhere. Goodness, did he have a penchant for tickling Bucky's sensitive side. Him _and_ Carol.

"Well, it's nothin' to be ashamed of!" Carol belted, and Steve could sense that she had picked on whatever he was thinking about Bucky and the maid. Which bode well with him because then she would be too intrigued by them to focus on him – he certainly didn’t need all his friends to know about his private life. "She's a real McCoy, that one. Wouldn't blame you for thinking of her –"

" _I was not!_ Now if you’ll excuse me." Bucky piped, his good mood long gone. He got up and reached into his pocket for his cigarette case, popping one into his mouth as he stood on the balcony, closing the door behind him.

Carol reclined back into her seat, unaffected by his outburst. Steve had known her for four years, when they were just beginning their first term at the Marvel Academy, and he was still impressed at how much she's grown accustomed to Bucky and his temperamental antics. Their romantic relationship lasted until junior year, but Steve believes they became even more closer afterwards. They were, after all, better off as friends.

Nevertheless, it was a bond that Steve had hoped to have with Peggy after they split, and so far, they were _far_ from it.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

The return to the downstairs kitchen was a silent one between her and Wanda, but nothing could ever go past Natasha.

She was naturally conscientious of everything occurring in her environment, that meanly way of attentive thinking having been instilled into her as a nine-year old when Germany's declaration of war on Russia brought the Great War to the steps of Tsaritsyn, her home.

She remembered the angered rumblings of her father, Alian, a railroad worker, who hadn't understood why their Tsar had mobilized the Imperial Army despite the blatant shortcomings of weaponry that the units suffered because of previous battles that ended in defeat. Her father feared a most violent revolution, seeds that had already been planted in 1905, a year before her birth, within the country during the war was imminent.

At the time, Natasha hadn't quite understood the gravitas of her father's warning. She had only been twelve when the February Revolution succeeded in forcing the Tsar to abdicate and putting an end to the long-lasting Russian Empire in 1917. But then the real horrors began, and civil war broke out, with several factions fighting to decide the fate of Russia's government. By the end of the year, the Russian Soviet Federative Socialist Republic was proclaimed, introducing itself as the world's first socialist state with Communism theology.

That, and along with Tsaritsyn falling into Soviet control, was the straw that broke the camel's back, in her father's view. Lyudmila, her mother, contacted her living relatives in Budapest, and through underground connections they had gathered over the years, Natasha and her parents managed to nab train tickets for the capital of an Austro-Hungarian Empire that was inching more and more towards total defeat in the Great War.

Then one week before their travels, the Bolsheviks announced that Nicholas II had been executed. No mention was made of his imprisoned wife or their five children, but Natasha's father had specifically cautioned his daughter: if they hadn't been killed along with the ex-Tsar, then they would be killed eventually. Alian didn't trust the communist Bolshevik government for one second, something he wasn't afraid of voicing publicly amongst his co-workers. Lyudmila's efforts to calm her husband down, to not draw attention from Vladimir Lenin's Red Army occupying Tsaritsyn, were in vain.

Even now, nearly a decade after Natasha and her mother escaped Russia, she was still unsure whether her father's outspoken protests against the government or the swirling rumors that they were somehow related to the former ruling Romanov family lead to his death that summer night in 1918. According to a close friend of her father's who had secretly witnessed the murder, Alian Romanov was shot as he was leaving his post for the night by a Red Army soldier who had heard of his plans to leave. The conversation lasted just one minute, and it seemed that Alian had attempted to flee when he was grabbed at the wrist, clubbed in the head and a bullet emptied through his skull.

They had been scheduled to leave the following morning. The friend ran to their home to alert Lyudmila, advising her it was best to spend the night at his house and leave at the crack of dawn for the station. Lyudmila, though shocked and devastated at the unexpected loss of her husband, refused to keep her down. She enforced this resilience to Natasha, who was consequently denied the chance of mourning her father. She doesn't even know what happened to his body, if he was even given a proper burial. They left Tsaritsyn, a city that would besieged in a back and forth aggressive conflict between the anti-communist White Army and the Red Army, commanded by Joseph Stalin.

By the time Natasha arrived at Ellis Island in 1922, having trekked through Budapest and Switzerland, she had learned that the Reds had won over the Whites, and the RSFSR was now the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics – or the Soviet Union, for short. Tsaritsyn had been renamed to Stalingrad, but to her, it would always be Tsaritsyn. She detested Communism, detested Stalin and the totalitarian rule he was trying to establish in her birth country. Nothing but betrayal and death came out of that so-called political party. She'd admit the monarchy hadn't been entirely innocent of the diminishing power of the former empire, but to replenish incompetence with absolute rule worsened the state of what was left of the war-torn country.

Which brought back Natasha to the current situation she was finding herself in. Always heedful, she maintained an open eye for any sign of trouble. Whether it was life-threatening or not, she couldn't risk bringing her guard down. But this unique situation, it didn’t deal with her having to dwell on the potential of fleeing, arming herself with a gun to use it on a person, or keeping distance from a Communist supporter singing Stalin's praises.

No, she wasn't dealing with none of that. More like child's play really, a stupid game she had no time for. But also quite harmless, if one was to honestly think about it.

Steve Rogers, the son of Mr. Stark, her master, was besotted with her. Natasha Romanoff, a damn parlor maid.

And she had thought his brother Barnes was explicit in his sudden interest in Wanda. Well, maybe not so scandalous as Barnes to covertly flounce it in front of his family. But Steve hadn’t been secret in hiding his interest from _her_. To her surprise, however, she found she liked how frank he was, even if it was unintentional.

She had been in the room for less than five minutes, and in all that short time, he didn't break eye contact with her. It had sent a rush of adrenaline up her spine, to catch the attention of a man that who was in the presence with two very beautiful women, women who were closer to his age.

But then again, he wasn't necessarily a man yet. If Natasha had learned correctly, he would 18 on the country's Independence Day.

She chuckled at the idea of her seducing a youth instead of the way around, like it had always been with her since her body had blossomed into its voluptuous form.

"What is funny?" Wanda inquired from beside her.

Natasha half-smiled, choosing not to respond.

"Do not think I did not see you and Mr. Rogers."

Natasha turned sideways to see Wanda's usual unbiased face livened up into a knowing look.

"I could say the same of you." Natasha threw back with no malice, just her pert smirk.

Wanda didn't speak about it further, probably for her own good.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

It was late in the afternoon, after the staff had taken its second short break of the day. Wanda was alone in the pantry, a cloth in her grasp as she cleaned the coffee cups and stacked them on the shelf, one by one. She was humming casually to herself, paying no mind to the animated interaction beyond the entrance of the pantry.

Instead, her mind was harking back to earlier in the noon, when the younger Stark boys had invited their friends over for lunch.

Wanda had been oddly nervous to serve them, or him, really. She hadn't want him to distract her again, and especially not in the company of his companions. She had to be both dutiful and graceful in her waiting, no matter if she were to be in the room for a whole three minuscule minutes. And she felt she had been doing just that, walking in with her spine erect and her servant's emotionless blank face on.

But her edgy discipline went on the window in one rapid swoop when she bent down and was enchanted by a set of the purest bluest eyes she'd ever seen. The color that reminded her of the ocean, that left her wanting to swim in the water and never come out of.

It lasted only a second, but it's all it took for Wanda's knees to buckle and her heart to start racing. The stimulated reaction he could produce from her, it was unlike anything she had experienced before. Not even Daisy's kisses and stolen touches elicited the flames burning in her gut. With one damn look, she was submerged. Mr. Barnes made her forget about the fact that she was a maid and beneath him in the social ladder.

Then reality sunk in, leaving her gasp for air, and the moment was over. When she and Natasha had made a second trip to the parlor, he had already retreated to the balcony to smoke. Wanda tried to tell herself that maybe he hadn’t known she would be back, but who was she to kid? As if she stood a chance to be with someone like him. Two very different world they came from, she and Mr. Barnes. He was the son of a millionaire, she an immigrant who spoke with an accent and had little money to her name. Her position in society belonged with the help because that is what was required of her. She wasn't needed elsewhere.

It was a glum outlook to swallow, but she supposed it was better than living on the streets. Begging for money just so they could eat a slice of bread, drinking the dirty water off the fountains, covered in worn clothes that were discolored and stinking, praying that they would live to see another day.

The life of a maid in America was incomparable to starving and dying in Sokovia.

"Wanda! There you are!" Mrs. Johnson stood at the threshold of the pantry. "Daisy is running late with Master Tony, so she wouldn't be able to tend to Master Bucky in time to be back down here ready to serve supper. Can you go in her place, help Master Bucky? You needn't worry, I'll finish this for you," she gestured at the cradle of remaining wet coffee cups.

" _Me_?" Wanda squeaked. She could quite literally taste the salty ocean water on her tongue.

"Yes, you'll do just fine. Master Bucky isn't fastidious like Master Tony. Now hurry, we're serving supper in twenty!" Mrs. Johnson shooed her, gently taking the cloth and cup from Wanda's hands and leading her out to the servant's hall.

 _Stay calm. Go in, choose his suit, and leave. That is it_ , she repeated to herself over and over as she headed upstairs in semi-quick strides. But the blush creeping up her neck, the tightening of her chest, and the mushy feeling in her stomach stopped any semblance of keeping docile. She was jittery, terribly so. Her first attempt at dressing him – and she had no idea what to expect.

Rounding the corner to the hallway where his bedchamber was located, she slowed her pace and smoothened out her apron, as well as readjusting her hat and her braided hair tied into a bun. She had to look her best, she reasoned.

Appearing at his door, Wanda cleared her throat and knocked.

When there was no answer, she knocked again, but more loudly.

Still no answer. Wanda stood there, biting her lip, debating internally if she should disregard his absence and enter any way. Remembering the hurriedness of Mrs. Johnson and the scolding she’d receive from Jarvis if she wasn't down there in time, she shoved aside her apprehensions and twisted the door knob.

Wasting no precious time, Wanda went straight to his walk-in closet, at first oblivious to the muffled splashing coming from the bathroom.

"I'll be right out, Daisy!"

Wanda's head snapped so fast that a bone in the back of her neck cracked. Forgetting about the three ties hanging limp on her fingers, she gulped and took three small anxious steps outside of the closet, clutching onto her chest as she stared wildly at the bathroom door.

_He is bathing!_

_And thinks I am Daisy!_

Her mouth agape, the sound of Jessica's shrilly voice rang in her ears.

_"One time, I even changed his bedsheets while he was bathing."_

She hadn't prepared for this. She hadn't been told what to do if one of the Stark men were bathing, if she should have waited outside until he was decent or if she should have to turn around while he changed right there or if she should just lay out his clothes on his bed and leave before he exited from the bathroom.

Unfortunately, Wanda had run out of time. The door swung open, humid mist hovering above the young man clad in a white towel wrapped dangerously low on a toned hip.

" _Sranje!_ (Oh shit)," Wanda cursed under her breath, the ties slipping from her grip, along with her eyes and her childish heart.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

"You're not Daisy," Bucky indicated with an earnest chuckle. Strangely, he didn't feel obligated to cover himself at once, not when he was in front of her or Daisy, if he was forthright.

 _Daisy doesn't see you in that manner_ , argued the voice inside his head, _she on the other hand…_

Wanda, likely realizing she was gawking at his half-naked body – an entertaining sight to behold, with her flushed cheeks, he thought – her mouth clasped shut and she reached for the fallen ties, stealthily diverting from looking at him.

"I-I am sorry, Mr. Barnes, I, er, I knocked and no answer," she stammered, hiding herself in the closet.

Suddenly feeling sorry for her, who clearly seemed out of her depth and had no idea that she should've just put out his evening clothes on the bed whilst he was busy, Bucky removed the towel and concealed himself with a bathrobe.

"It's alright, don't fret over it. Pick any suit you like, it doesn't matter to me." He reassured her softly, taking a seat on the edge of his bed.

She did as she was told, but reading from her body language, the poor girl was stiff and swift at the same time. She refused to acknowledge him as she ransacked through his closet, holding up an under shirt and a pair of slacks while examining the arrangement of shoes on the floor.

Compared to Carol, she was short, but not as short as Janey. In fact, she was unlike any dame he'd come to meet in his plentiful life so far.

From a distance, she didn't seem to have Carol's fierce independence, assertiveness and sheer determination, nor Janey's intellectual genius and stubbornness.

Bucky couldn't make out Wanda Maximoff, not like he had put a finger on the other maids. She was mysterious, an oddity, and he felt drawn to figure her out, to undo the mask she hid behind.

"Where're you from? If you don't mind me askin'," he said while she carefully spread his evening suit on the silky bedsheets with enough space between them.

Wanda nervously bit her lower lip, a movement Bucky couldn't help but stare, some part of him wishing it was his lip she was biting.

"Sokovia," she whispered timidly.

"What part of Sokovia?" he asked although he already knew from sparse conversations with her mother.

"Transia," she replied, the rolling of the 'r' sending a wave of chills through him. "The capital."

"I've read what's been going on over there. It's a travesty," Bucky thought of the heinous news coming out of the little Eastern European country currently battling a civil war that's been killing hundreds of innocents, mainly the destitute who have no homes to protect themselves.

Wanda's eyes lifted to look at him since he had unceremoniously flashed his bare chest at her. The corner of her mouth twitched.

"It is," she agreed quietly.

"I'm glad you're not over there," the words spilled without his consent, just straight from the heart, before regaining control of that emotional muscle and clarified. "You and your family, I mean."

Her soft cheekbones were colored rosy at his comment. Though Bucky hadn't meant to say what he actually felt, he was content that his words had impacted her. He _did_ mean it - the news of the violence in her country was so horrible, it was a miracle that she had escaped just in time. He simply couldn't imagine her getting caught in the crossfire, her life threatened daily. She didn't deserve it, just like those people that were getting killed by communist rebels.

"Thank you," she murmured.

Hands neatly folded on her apron, she stood awkwardly, her chin lowered that it almost touched her chest. He could see her lips quivering, trying hard not to look at him. He wondered if she was afraid of him, and discovered that he didn’t like that. He didn’t want any part of the staff to fear him, most especially her. His fingers itched to lift her pretty face and let her know that she could confide in him, but he stayed in his place, instead opting to rub the sweat of his palms on the bathrobe.

"Is there anything else you need me to do?"

"No, Wanda. You may go," he resigned, quite annoyed with himself, but then he remembered Tony’s wicked proposal, and the onslaught of his gloomy disposition was shooed away. "Oh, wait!" He called out as she was to open the door. Surprised, she faced him, and Bucky involuntarily smiled at the prospect of what he had in store for her. "You have tomorrow off?"

Wanda nodded, "Yes, the whole staff does on Sundays."

Bucky grinned.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> because it's set after WW1 and at the beginning of the 20th century which had lots of political conflicts, many of the characters will come from very rough upbringings, ex: Natasha and Wanda.
> 
> 1920s slang:
> 
> -Sap: a fool, an idiot  
> -Bushwa: a euphemism for "bullshit"  
> -real McCoy: a genuine item


	7. A Little Birdie Told Me So

_May 15, 1926 - continued_

Bucky didn't pay much attention to the conversations that went on during supper. It was the usual small talk between his parents: how father's day was at either Stark Pictures or Stark Industries, or sometimes both. Mother, not one to stay at home doing nothing, dedicated herself to philanthropy organizations and charities, and when not doing that or overlooking the Manor, chatting with her close friends over tea and finger sandwiches. It was the same mundane routine every day, and though Bucky liked that they were keeping busy, he didn't really care to hear it.

Instead, he focused on the delicious meal Mrs. Palazzo had prepared for them, a soup of zucchini, tomatoes, and basil, and catching a certain maid peering at him more than once.

There was no Daisy or Natasha; it was just Wanda serving them, and she did a splendid job at it. She waited for them carefully, her face a black space of emotions. Once she was done and joined Jarvis standing by the door, arms hung loose on her sides, Bucky took the opportunity to sneak a peek at her - and was pleasantly surprised to see her flick her eyes back forwards, her lips twitching as if they wanted to smile.

 _Quick, but not quick enough, doll,_ he thought as a chuckle threatened to form in the back of his throat.

Sitting there among his family, Bucky still couldn't believe that he had appeared before her almost naked. And worst of all, he hadn't felt any shame. Not that he did now, which was even more damning, but his reaction was shocking nonetheless. He wasn't like that with Daisy, and for good reason. She would never see him like _that_ , so it didn't bother him, nor did it bother her. But with other women, of course he would've not dared to expose himself. It was weeks before Carol or Jane had seen him bare-chested, two girls he had liked very much. And yet with this particular girl, this Wanda... it was like he was unafraid of showing himself to her, what his body looked like underneath the clothes. No matter if it was to a girl he thought attractive; he was baring himself to a little foreign maid, a _stranger_.

But he had also remembered the burst of courage that had come out of nowhere in that moment, and despite his odd and ungentlemanly behavior, he desired to feel that courage again. It was a spontaneous sensation, never once experienced, not even with Carol or Jane. He didn't understand why he felt it with her, whom he'd known for less than two days.

Raising his spoon to slurp the soup, he took another sneaky gander at her.

Bucky had seen and been in the presence of enough women to distinguish the physically beautiful ones from the plain ones, but he never saw it that way. To him, it didn't always have to dwell on their good looks. Every girl had her own charm, and that is what drew him in more than anything. Though both Carol and Jane were gorgeous girls, that's not where Bucky's interest had finished. Carol's unapologetic demand for independence and gender equality, Jane's scientific brilliant mind and never-ending dedication, those traits are what Bucky had been lured in. He wondered what it was about this girl, this Wanda Maximoff, that intrigued him so from the moment he had laid eyes on her.

Even as Bucky boarded Tony's automobile and the three of them rode off for another foolhardy night at the Black Panther Bar, he couldn't stop thinking about her. Her pretty round face, those soft pink lips and glistening green eyes that he could feel on him as he spoke with his mother, and God, that accent. He could listen to her voice all day, in English or Sokovian, it didn't matter to him. He could live the rest of his days on just hearing her melodic voice.

 _Stop thinking such improper things,_ hissed the annoying voice in his head. _She's a maid, it's out of the question._

If there was one thing that Bucky knew with all his might, drilled into his head as a child, was to never disobey Father. Respect your elders, heed his advice, never talk back, always wear the Stark name with pride and dignity, and the most important one as of late: please don't get intimately involved with any member of the staff.

Howard had enforced the last bit after the scandalous stories and gossips that plagued his old friend, Hank Pym. Apparently, Pym's daughter Hope had slept with their chauffeur, a lanky and awkward lad named Scott Lang. Pym was forced to send Hope across the country to a remote boarding school in New Hampshire, and there was no more mention of the fate of poor Scott Lang, besides that he was fired.

The fallout from the adolescent hanky-panky brought unwanted attention to father's company, leading him to forewarn his own sons of such reprehensible conduct. 

"They are the help. They were hired to work for us, to serve us. Don't ever think otherwise."

Bucky understood what his father meant, really he did, and he'd be a dimwit to go against his number one rule. But it was difficult to obey him when he went on hiring girls his age, pretty ones at that, in his humble opinion.

"Hellooo? Earth to Buckyyy?"

Bucky blinked, his eyes starting to burn from gazing off into space. The boisterous sound of the orchestra's trumpets and saxophones and rowdy laughter came back in one fast swoosh, kneaded with the overpowering smell of cocktails, cigars and tobacco leaf. He looked to see Danny waving his drink at his face, not caring that its alcoholic content was spilling over his fingers.

"Did you say something?" Bucky asked.

"Yeah. Stevie and I were talkin' about when you'd have a new dame aroun' your arm. It's been some months since you-know-who..." Danny trailed off, eyes jumping back and forth between the two brothers.

Bucky rolled his eyes. "She has a name. And I'm quite alright being single, thank you."

Danny snorted while drinking, causing some liquid to spurt on his nose. He wiped it off with his sleeve and replied, "I know ya, Buck. I know how much you like the chase. If it hasn't happened yet, it will. Aren't I right, Stevie?"

Bucky turned to Steve on his right, who harrumphed and sheepishly looked away. Danny opened his mouth to continue, but said nothing, as their attention was flipped to an already hoary-eyed Tony looming up on them.

"Hey, Tony, remind me what father said to us at dinner?" Steve quipped.

"An' what 'bout you, Danny boy? You got a dame?" Tony asked, ignoring Steve's jab. His usual smirk was lagging on the corners, as was his shoulder that hung loose around Pepper.

Danny shook his head with ease. "Nah."

"Oh really? Huh," Tony appeared to be feigning deep thought by poking his chin with the pad of his index finger. "Sooo the name _Colleen Wing_ doesn't mean anythin'?"

Bucky's brows flew to his scalp.

"Colleen Wing?" Bucky asked incredulously. Perhaps he hadn't heard right. Or maybe Tony was already off his rocker. But then he gazed at Danny, whose gaiety had dramatically lessened and shrunk back into the lounge couch they were sitting in, appearing a bit distressed.

Sensing his resignation, Tony muttered to Pepper to take him to the bar under the pretense of getting another drink. With their big mouth of a brother gone, Bucky and Steve traded stares, internally debating who would broach the unexpected subject.

"Is it true?" Leave it to Steve to be blunt yet sincere at the same time.

"Luke, T'Challa... they know. So don't worry your pretty little heads over it." Danny replied quietly with a short smile that didn't reach his sad blue eyes.

_What?_

Bucky wanted to say so much more. Not just wanting a damn explanation over what Danny meant to say with that ultra-vague statement, but to let him know that he could trust in him with whatever he was hiding. Bucky didn't get the opportunity, as Danny had swallowed the rest of his Sazerac, kindly excused himself and disappeared into the dancing crowd. 

"Who would've thought?" Steve murmured.

Certainly not him. Bucky would've never believed it, and he flinched as he couldn't help but think back on the maid. "Yeah... who would've?"

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

_May 16, 1926_

 

Birds chirping and flying above the trees of the Santa Monica Mountain range, a light breeze blowing past them, and the rising sun shining its rays, the girls meandered through Griffith Park. They always did this on Sunday mornings, right after breakfast. A nice exercise around the beauty of nature, or not having to worry about irking Jarvis or hearing Mrs. Palazzo's high-pitched Italian curses.

Daisy and Jessica guided the line, behind them Bobbi and Jemma, and rounding the rear was Wanda and Natasha. They took advantage of their walks to converse about anything and everything, including disreputable gossipy topics that would've been banned by Jarvis at the table. Jessica always provided the stories; however, she never disclosed where she heard them from, which only added to the allure of her devious investigative skills.

As they reached the end of the path that led to the main road, they passed by three giggling women who looked like they were in their early twenties. From their carefully woven short hair peaking from under their flowery cloche hats to the silky crepe dresses with low waistlines and the clickety-clack of their T-strapped shoes, they were so charmingly chic, it left the other girls looking on in secret wonder and awe. Compared to those wealthy girls, the maids of Stark Manor wore loose cardigans and pleated skirts of darker, blander colors and wearied oxfords, and neither had dared to cut off their long locks.

"I wish I could afford to wear dresses like that," Natasha mused after some time. Wanda smiled in agreement.

"Why would you wish that?" Jessica scoffed. "When you got a face like yours, a dress is the last thing a man wants to see on you."

Natasha blushed, while everyone else tried to muffle their chuckles with their hands.

"My, oh my, Jessica," Bobbi tutted with a smirk. "You sure have a way with words."

Jessica shrugged. "I'm just sayin' for ladies like Nat, there's no need to put on the ritz. Their pretty faces are enough."

Jemma shook her head. "Hmm, I don't agree, Jess. No women should settle for just her looks. We're capable of many things."

"No matter if we think we're more than what we've been submitted to for hundreds of years, the men will never accept it."

"Oh, c'mon Jessica -" Bobbi retorted.

"How can you say that -" Daisy interjected.

"You don't believe that for even a second," Jemma argued, leaning towards Jessica but keeping the space respectable between them. "I heard Miss Carol Danvers speak about the new work opportunities for women, _and_ -" she emphasized with the lift of an index finger when Jessica threw her head back to respond. "- and it's no longer restricted to running a speakeasy, though it's profitable just the same."

"And how!" Bobbi acquiesced, grinning at the brunette. "The men might not accept it, but they will have no choice but to do so because we ain't goin' nowhere."

"Either that or do what Mrs. Danvers did, and marry a millionaire. Mrs. Danvers would still be in Spain, which has fallen to a dictatorship, if not for Mr. Danvers," Jessica explained.

"I would rather marry for love," Wanda commented timidly.

"Doesn’t everyone?" Jemma thought breezily, the image of a young man with a Scottish accent and dark blonde curls atop those clear blue orbs.

"Of course you would," Jessica remarked with a roll of the eyes.

Arriving at the sidewalk, they hailed for taxicabs. Natasha, Jessica and Jemma got on the first to come, and Wanda, Daisy and Bobbi followed a few minutes later. They were taken into the center of the city, to stores where prices were more kind to the salaries that they earned.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Upon returning from their trip, Wanda went straight to her room located on the second floor of the servants' quarters. She hummed satisfyingly to herself, the bag in her hand brushing intermittently on her long skirt.

Wanda hadn't planned on spending anything, but once she saw the periwinkle-colored bucket hat, adorned with flowers to the side, and the one-dollar and some change cost, she was won over. She bought the hat and though she had already tried it on at the store, she wanted to sequester herself in the confines of her room and revel in the addition of her fourth hat alone.

Softly closing the door behind her, she eagerly reached into the bag for the hat and flung it to her bed, though instead it slowly fell to the hardwood floor. Wanda stood in front of her circular-shaped vanity mirror and gently placed the hat on her head, not messing with the braided bun pinned back close to the nape of her neck.

Wanda grinned at what she saw; she was beyond happy with how she looked in it. Though it didn’t match with the outfit she had on, it didn't matter. She had a brand-new hat after almost a year and she couldn’t wait to wear it the following Sunday and show her mother and brother and the whole staff.

In a jolly daze, Wanda started to bounce around in circles, giggling tenderly at the accessory, until she got dizzy and stumbled on the edge of her bed to catch her breath. When her sight cleared, she bent down to pick up the discarded plastic bag when she noticed something in her peripheral.

On the floor, laying as if it had been tossed underneath the door like mail, was a letter. It wasn't posted; in fact, it had nothing written on it. Curious, Wanda crumpled the bag and extended her hand to grip the letter, which turned out to be a note. Written in nice handwriting, she read the note in hushed whispers.

 

_Wanda,_

_If you could meet me at the avenue of trees in the gardens after you're back, I'd greatly appreciate it._

_B.B._

 

She re-read the note a couple times, her heart racing an extra mile after every passing second. She couldn't believe it – wouldn’t believe it! There was only person in the Manor with those initials, only one. Bucky Barnes. He wanted to see _her_. Why on earth he wanted to, she couldn't even take a guess. Is this why he had asked her about when she would have her off day? To speak with her? Maybe he needed help with something? And did he personally deliver the note? Jarvis would’ve stopped him in his tracks, surely, since it would’ve been odd and out of place for him to be in the servants' passageway. Wanda's mind went into overdrive and before long she was trying to come up with any coherent meaning as to why he would want to see her, in a relative hidden part of the gardens, no less. A blush creeped on her cheeks as she pushed away _those_ types of thoughts and she regained focus on the task at hand.

Seeing her reflection on the mirror, Wanda chewed on her lower lip as she wondered if she should go down as presently dressed or put on her uniform. It was her day off, but she had never once seen the staff parade around the Manor’s grounds without their uniform. Rather, they never strayed to walk on the grounds, period.

As she stood there deliberating, a small part of her wished for him to see her without the uniform. To see her as she really was: not a black-and-white maid who waited on him and listened to his commands, but as a free and independent woman who was his equal. Not just a flimsy house maid, but a proper and educated lady.

Then Wanda caught sight of that folded garb on her dresser through the mirror, and she sighed in renunciation. How silly of her, to think that she could walk through the gardens without her uniform. What if a guest were to show up unannounced, they'd think the Starks unconventional for allowing their servants to work without the proper attire. It could cause a scandal, and scandal was unforgivable in Mr. Stark's eyes.

No, she would don on her uniform to meet with Mr. Barnes. Her belief in presenting herself as she was, it wasn't permitted. There was no place for such openness. She would have to rightfully submit and wear the uniform to go upstairs, even if it was her day off.

With another sigh, Wanda removed her pretty bucket hat, cardigan and skirt, replacing with the black-and-white dress and the ugly white cap. Tucking the note into her pocket, Wanda checked herself one last time, pinching her cheeks to bring some color, and exited her room.

At the end of the passageway was Daisy's room. Her door was open and Wanda could hear noises coming from there. Nervously grasping the note with one hand, she pondered whether she should tell Daisy.

Aside from her family, Daisy was the only person she trusted downstairs. And while that trust might be biased because of a past attraction that had existed between them, it had given Wanda a chance to really know her. She could share secrets with her that she wouldn’t ever tell Pietro or be too shy to tell her mother, but with Daisy, it was easy as breathing. With Daisy, she had no doubts or hesitations. In spite of nothing actually forming from their romance, they were still very close.

Whatever Mr. Barnes wanted, Wanda had a feeling she wouldn't want to keep it bundled inside. Daisy, her outlet, her friend, she could confide in her.

Approaching the entrance of her room, Wanda found Daisy organizing her clothes, scattered on her unmade bed.

Wanda knocked once on the door. "Daisy?"

She immediately looked up, her smile fading as her brows furrowed in confusion. "Hey. Why'd you have that on?"

Stealing a gaze at both opposite ends of the hallway, contented to find it empty, Wanda entered the room and with care, she revealed the note. She silently held it for Daisy, who took it with bemused curiosity. Minutes ticked by as Daisy read it under her breath, Wanda spending it anxiously biting on one of her fingernails.

"That's why you changed," Daisy nodded solemnly as she handed the note back.

"So? Should I go, is it right?" Wanda asked.

Daisy gave her another look-over and she replied sternly, "Seems you've already made up your mind."

Wanda's head hung low, her hand unconsciously tugging on her uniform as she was being scrutinized. From the sound of her voice and her falling eyes, Daisy was rather displeased.

"Tell me, do you find him attractive?"

Green eyes collided with dark brown ones. Wanda's teeth gnawed on the inside of her lower lip; she didn’t know how to respond. She couldn't lie to her – Daisy would know in a heartbeat. But she also couldn't go that far. She couldn't risk admitting to it out loud, not when it could be a child's crush. She wasn’t sure, so she didn't feel okay showing her uncertainty, especially to Daisy whom she knew still felt something for her.

But Wanda's silence was enough for Daisy.

Pursing her lips, Daisy flatly warned. "Carrying out an affair with the employer's son is grounds for dismissal."

Taken aback by Daisy's candor, Wanda's mouth hung open for a good second or two – an _affair? With Bucky Barnes?_ – before she rebounded and cleared her throat. Well, this was a bad idea.

"I know. I…" Wanda acknowledged, her feet already taking her out of the room. It had been a mistake to do this. How stupid she was. Letting Daisy, who harbored feelings for her, know about whatever was going with Bucky Barnes, a stupid, idiotic mistake.

Wanda could see the hurt flickering through Daisy's eyes, but Daisy said nothing to counteract her sudden coldness towards Wanda, nothing to warm her with advice of what she was about to do. Growing uncomfortable with the suffocating quiet that had descended on them, Wanda turned on her heel and left, not bothering to look back.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> slang used:
> 
> \- hoary-eyed: drunk  
> \- putting on the ritz: doing something in high style  
> \- and how!: I strongly agree!


	8. The More We Are Together

_May 16, 1926 – continued_

Rounding the hidden servants' corridors, her dress swishing on her legs as she went down the darkened stairs, Wanda tried to think nothing of it.

Barnes' request was unusual, yes, but there was no harm. He wanted an audience with her, so who was she to ignore her master? He most likely needed her help with something that wouldn't take up her time. A trivial thing, she told herself. No other reason to ~~sneak a note under her door~~ – simply see her.

Emerging from an east wing entrance of the forecourt that was used only by the staff, Wanda walked straight up the little hill to the gardens. On a sunny cool afternoon like this, it would be nice to host guests on the manicured lawns that Mrs. Stark staunchly over saw its care. Such as when they invited Buster Keaton for lunch days before the younger Stark boys had come back. Wanda had already served a couple of famous faces, but she still couldn't stop her hands from trembling.

Reminiscing about the experience, she didn't even realize that the same shaking that had taken hold of her hands waiting on the famous guests of the Starks was happening again. When she tripped over her own foot climbing up the small steps to go further into the gardens, Wanda gripped her fingers onto the hard and large stone rail.

Catching her breath, she suddenly felt hot under the sun, even though it wasn't hot enough to make her sweat. Yet she already was, she could feel her forehead and underarms prickling with sweat amid her flustered stomach making her feel queasy.

Attempting to lower her heart rate, it only sped at the sound of distant male laughter. Cocking her head slightly to her left, she could see, just beyond the boxed hedges, the three sons throwing around a baseball in the expanse envy of mowed green grass.

Hoping she wouldn't be seen, Wanda cowered as she softly went up the crema marfil marble steps. Crouching on the back of her knees, hidden behind a bush, she watched them.

They didn't resemble like the nice tailored and well-kept young men that they composed themselves to everyone. Hair blowing in all sorts of direction, trousers roughed up with some dirt on the knees, light V-neck cricket sweaters that were scrunched up to their elbows and suspenders waving unbound on the sides of their legs, they looked like carefree children.

She stayed in that position for a few minutes, not wanting to disturb their play. She simply observed, her eyes never leaving the tallest one with dark brown hair that curled a bit at the crown of his head and a goofy smile taking over his elated and dampened face.

"Hiya Wanda!"

The friendly unexpected voice from behind caused Wanda to gasp, spinning around with eyes wider than saucers and her hand flying to her heart that felt like it was going to explode from so much pressure. She was instantly wrecked with fear, thinking someone from the staff had caught her eavesdropping. Then the person that had called her came into focus and Wanda half-smiled, sighing a long breath of relief. It was the gardener.

"Mr. Eugene. Hello." She said, slowly rising to her feet, putting her in plain view of where the brothers were playing.

The old man offered a hand that was covered in a yellow faded gardening glove. "Are you alright? Did you fall?"

Wanda shook her head. "No, no," she said, offering no further explanation.

"Oh, well then," he smiled warmly. "How've you've been?"

"Good, thank you for asking," Wanda replied, though she wasn't really paying attention to him. Peeking over her shoulder, she caught Mr. Barnes slyly returning the favor. Embarrassed at being caught, she went back to speaking with Eugene, praying she wasn't blushing in front of him. "And you?"

"Oh, just dandy. Tending to Mrs. Stark's treasured red and white roses, like always," he chuckled heartedly. "Master Tony's birthday is less than two weeks from now, so she's wanting me to check them more often now, make sure they're in full bloom for him."

Wanda nodded along distractedly. "Hmm."

He continued to watch her, waiting for her to say something to push away the silence between them, but then his eyes flickered to movement coming from behind her. Still smiling, he cleared his throat and tipped his hat. "Alright then, Wanda. Really good to see you. Tell your mother I said hello."

"I will."

Mr. Eugene retreated, his back hunching over as he slowly walked to the gardens, and suddenly Wanda felt the urge to join him. For she knew why he had left as quick as he had appeared, and it brought back the surge of anxiety that she had failed to quell. But she was already there, in the location he had asked to see her, so there was nothing left to be done except get it over with. Straightening her spine and exhaling sharply through her nostrils, Wanda turned on her heel.

He was jogging towards her, but in that instance, the heart stopped, the world stopped. He was approaching her in slow motion, the wind blowing those little dark and messy curls above his forehead that glistened with sweat. The summer sun was positioned to his right, casting a shadow on half his frame, but it wasn’t nearly enough to hide those bright blue eyes, mirroring the cloudless sky. Playing in the heat had stained his cheeks in red and tanned his skin a beautiful light color of brown, emphasizing his physique and those blue irises.

"I was worried you wouldn't come."

Registering those supple pink lips moving, Wanda snapped from whatever trance she had been in and shyly lowered her head at the height advantage he held over her.

"Need anything, Mr. Barnes?"

Bucky smiled. Wanda's knees trembled.

"Yes," he said, motioning an arm. "Come take a walk with me, if you don't mind."

Holding her breath, she followed closely after him, passing by the fountain and entering the terraced landscaping alleé leading back to the Manor. Strolling through the straight avenue of the visually stunning Italian cypress trees, narrow and soaring over 20 feet, Wanda marveled at its neatly trimmed design as she stared above. Out of the entire gardens, this was by far her favorite part, probably because it was one she seldom ventured. Aligned in rows of sixteen on each side, they stood spectacularly high like the Woolworth Building that she had once seen in a postcard Jessica had received from a friend living in Manhattan. They paced slowly on the Pennsylvania bluestone tiles, the ornamental evergreen conifers delivering a shrouding backdrop on them.

"The reason I wanted to see you is..." Bucky chuckled lowly, his hands dug deep into his trousers pockets. He seemed nervous. "Well... I hope you don't think I'm bein' too forward."

Wanda blushed at his insinuation. "I'm sorry...?"

Bucky then suddenly froze, causing her to stumble over her own small feet. At their physical closeness, he smirked and leaned in a bit, his breath hitting her nose as he asked, "Have you been to a speakeasy?"

Wanda's insides recoiled at the sensation of his breath, her eyes broadening in amused surprise at his question. Of course she wouldn't dare to be seen at such an establishment. "No."

His eyes flickered momentarily to the Manor, the cypress trees relatively blocking them from view. His smirk grew; so did Wanda's heartbeat. "Well my brothers and I... in the past we've treated the maids with a... night into town,"

"A night into town?" Wanda repeated slowly.

"Yes. But it's done in secret. My parents would never approve of clandestine behavior. It's risky for us alone to be at a speakeasy – he certainly wouldn't want his house employees to be drinking illegal liquor."

Wanda nodded, but the furrow in her brows remained. "What are you asking, Mr. Barnes?"

His head bowed down, a non-relaxed chuckle escaping him as he ran a hand through that beautiful nest of hair. "What I'm sayin' is – what I'm askin' is… would you like to come with me – and my brothers?"

Wanda couldn't believe her ears. Had she heard correct? "You are – you want to take _me_ to a... speakeasy?" Even the way she pronounced the word didn't seem right.

"Well, not only you. We'd like to bring your brother and Natasha as well."

" _Why_?" she wheezed, becoming more bewildered by every passing second. What was he even talking about? He was asking her as if she was in the position to accept, which she definitely wasn't.

"It's the least my brothers and I could think of doing," he offered with sincerity evident in his tone. "You all work extremely hard, and you deserve to be rewarded. I apologize it's not necessarily legal, but not even Prohibition can put down our fun. So, Wanda, do you want to join in on the fun?"

"I – um – I am not..." Wanda's voice faltered into puzzlement, heart stuck in her throat, obstructing any airway to allow her to respond accordingly.

After all, what was happening? What was he even asking, really? Did he actually think she would yes to a proposition she thought was head-scratching, not to mention a hazard to keeping her job at the Manor? Even if she did admit to herself that she would drop everything and go anywhere with him, it wasn't realistic thinking on her, or his, behalf.

Detecting her trepidation, Bucky continued, "Would you believe me if I told you, a year ago, we snuck Daisy, Jemma, Jessica _and_ Bobbi outta the Manor?"

Wanda fought the urge to roll her eyes. Now _that_ she wouldn't ever believe, not bothering to hide her astounded and doubtful expression from him.

"Didn't know that, did ya?" Bucky smiled mischievously. "Means they've kept their word, which we're very grateful for. But yes, my brothers and I took them to T'Chaka Cage's bar under his restaurant."

Wanda wondered offhandedly if creasing lines would form on her forehead from the amount of furrowing she was doing, hearing his reveal this shocking truth that just couldn't simply be true. Daisy had never mentioned anything of the matter, and neither had the other girls. If he really was telling the truth, then what else could they be hiding? Wanda made a mental note to handle this revelation later.

"So... what do you say Wanda?"

Looking at him, who patiently looked back at her unrepentant, she discovered she was still unsure. It was a risk, a stupid and dumb risk she didn't think she'd be willing to do. Biting her lower lip as she thought, she saw his eyes sliver down to her mouth at the movement. She immediately felt self-conscious and spoke to break his concentration.

"I... do not know," she admitted, breaking away from his gaze to fidget nervously with her black sleeves.

Bucky balanced from leg to another, his face frowning as he kept at trying to convince her. "Well um – I've already asked your brother. He's in. And Steve, he was on his way to talk to Natasha. We'd wait until the house was completely silent and everyone in bed, take a car to the Black Panther, and spend two or three hours over there. It's – I know what you're thinkin', because I'm thinkin' it too, we all are, but… you're young and beautiful Wanda," he sighed with a heart-tugging smile as Wanda wanted to leap all around the gardens at his compliment.

"I know my parents want to treat the servants as best they can, and compared to other families that I've visited, they’re damn near saints," he chuckled, the hesitancy on his body language disappearing for just that moment. "But even then… I dunno know, I – I just feel – and my brothers – we still feel we should return the thanks. That's all. And especially for people our age, a whole new generation where it's startin' to feel like we can do whatever we want with our lives, I just think that every person in our generation, whether they're rich or poor, should experience what's out there. That's why we took Daisy and them to the speakeasy a while back. To let 'em experience what other people their age was, even if it's against the law," he added with a faint smirk. "That's... that's what we want to do with you and your brother and Natasha."

Wanda was at a total loss. She didn’t know how to answer this; it certainly hadn’t been included in her maid training. Or any training in whatever he was asking, honestly. Her track record with boys was negligible, to be kind. The financial struggles of her mother had left no room for romantic possibilities, but she truly hadn't minded. Her first priority was to help her mother take care of the family. Everything else would eventually fall into place, she believed. She disliked rushing into things, which she could attribute to her famous ubiquitous patience. Her mother had taught her to live in the moment and to enjoy it as much as she could in spite of the lack of economic security of their family and working the humble job of a household servant.

But this… this isn't something she had prepared for. Though his explanation was delivered in a manner that was kind-hearted and generous, she was unsure if she should’ve been the audience. And it would be completely unprofessional of her to accept what he was trying to do for her, even if he meant well. She would be risking not just her job, but her brother's and mother's as well. The fact that Pietro had already agreed to go with them was damning enough – how could he have accepted without even consulting her? It made her head spin from all the confusion and diffidence she was feeling. She knew her brother was impulsive, but she hadn’t thought it would range to the point of placing his employment on the line.

And yet, as she stood there, with Bucky looking down at her expectantly, his eyes child-like and wide, she mentally cursed herself. If she could admit it aloud, she would: she'd go anywhere with him. She didn't know him at all, but he brought out a type of longing curiosity she hadn't felt for someone before. In her short time at the Manor, despite serving champagne-drinking celebrated actors and pipe-smoking billionaire entrepreneurs, Bucky Barnes was still the most interesting person in the world.

And that intense want, the desire to get to really know him and who he was as a person, led her to give a timid nod. Ignoring what her head was saying, this time, she went with her heart.

"Okay."

"Okay?" Bucky repeated, a grin flashing across his handsome happy features.

Nodding again, Wanda wanted to laugh at how cheerful he was. She realized she really liked his smile, spreading from cheek to cheek, slightly crinkling the outer corners of his eyes. But she remained quiet, smiling shyly as he quickly elucidated the plan him and his brothers had shaped for that night.

"You won't regret it," he promised with a wonderful smile as he turned to head back to the Manor.

Composure regained once he was out of sight, she let out a heave, running the pads of her fingers over her reddened cheek.  _Šta si ušao u sebe?_   _(What have you gotten yourself into?_ _)_ , she thought with a tiny smile of her own.

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

Natasha sat alone at the table, humming absentmindedly to herself as she was sewing an old flesh-colored camisole. The hall was vacant, as it always was on Sunday afternoons, the staff having dispersed like ants to the privacy of their bedrooms or taken to an excursion around the city in the cool ocean weather.

One leg cushioned under her bottom while the other free foot swung freely, she heard a shuffling noise come from the top of the stairway. She didn't bother turning around, figuring it was simply one of the maids.

Sitting facing away from the stairs, Natasha concentrated on threading the little needle through the flimsy fabric. It wasn't until she felt like she was being watched, a lingering presence behind her that raised the hairs on the back of her neck, that she twisted her torso.

Upon seeing him, Natasha shot up like a soldier getting called to attention, ignoring the chair's legs screeching on the floor as it slid behind her.

"M–Mr. Rogers," she stuttered, feeling a knot form in her stomach.

"Natasha –" Steve paused at seeing the intimate article of clothing and basket of needles on the table. "Oh, I'm sorry, did I interrupt you?"

Marginally raising her eyes to answer, she shook her head. "No apologies necessary."

She kept her head low, averting meeting his eyes. She thought it was silly of her to feel the things she was feeling whenever he was around: nervous and timid. She wasn't like that with the rest of his family, or just about with anyone. She had certainly seen more good-looking men than him; technically, he was still a boy. So it didn't make sense to her, tensely standing there, afraid of facing him.

With an awkward silence befalling on them, Steve cleared his throat. "Where is everybody else?"

Natasha shrugged a shoulder. "I wouldn't know. It's our off day; we can do whatever we like."

At the light sound of his chuckle, Natasha's eyelashes lifted to see him. His cheeks were tainted pink, as if he'd been running around outside. Taking a better look, it did seem like he had roughed himself up - a pretty image painted, she thought.

"Yes, of course," he said sheepishly, extending a hand towards Mrs. Johnson's office. "I'd like to speak privately for a moment, if you will..."

Natasha took the first step, wondering what conversation could be so important that he had to come down and deliver it himself.

She stopped near Mrs. Johnson's desk, Steve remaining beside the open door. He gazed at her, eyes so wide open under those pair of bushy dark brows that she could see how blue-green they were.

"Er – I dunno know how to say this, it's kinda... not the type of chat I expected to have. You're not in trouble, no one is," he added quickly when he saw her beginning to frown. "Well, if we were caught, then yeah we'd be screwed... but I really doubt it."

With a smirk and feeling more at ease seeing how embarrassed Steve was becoming, Natasha raised an arched brow and folded her arms over her chest – she wasn't in uniform, but wearing a drab blouse that left little to the imagination of her large chest. She pursed her lips, and with that Steve continued.

"Well, tonight me, Bucky and Tony are going to the Cages' bar. You know, the one under his restaurant?" Natasha nodded. "Umm – and well, I was just thinkin' that maybe – you don't have to, by the way – but we were thinkin' that tonight, if you wanted to, you know –"

"Accompany you?" Natasha finished for him, her smirk deepening.

If Steve hadn't resembled a fumbling church boy asking his parents to skip Mass, he did in that moment and it warmed Natasha's insides to see she had been the cause of it.

"Would you?" he whispered in astonishment, as if he couldn't believe she would accept his invitation.

"You didn't think I wouldn't know?" The sarcasm in her tone didn't go unnoticed.

Shoving his hands into his dirty trousers' pockets and his shoulders slacking from pressure, he pretended to act surprised but his surreptitious smile gave him away. "Know what?"

Oh, she had known alright. Just before Natasha had come to the Manor, she had heard about the rendezvous. The brothers had snuck out the maids for "a night of freedom," Daisy had termed it. As a token of their appreciation, they had fled with maids into the dangerous night of a speakeasy and partied themselves until they, or rather just Jessica, couldn't stand. Daisy said they had been sworn to secrecy, so Natasha thinks the only reason Daisy told her was simply just to brag a bit - since she really couldn't.

Natasha gave him a knowing look, mulling over what to say without giving too much away.

"I know what you did for _them,_ " she flicked her chin upwards to the upstairs location of their cots. "That is all I will say about it."

Steve clicked his tongue, understanding what she was trying to imply. He then licked his lips, momentarily distracting Natasha. She wondered how they tasted, if they were salty from his perspiration, or so dry that he needed someone else to suck them until they were the right color of pink.

Natasha cleared her throat.

"Am I the only one you have asked?"

"Bucky's gone to ask Wanda. And I believe her brother is going."

She smiled at the mention of the outspoken and sarcastic Maximoff. Observing from afar, she could see how much the allure of nighttime Los Angeles itched Pietro like a bad case of chicken pox. He drove around the Starks all day, every day, and being unable to experience it like everyone else must've bothered him. His sister, on the other hand, was too shy and introverted. Natasha doubted she would accept; she wasn’t nearly the risk-taker her brother was.

"Well… I have wondered how the speakeasies were here," she admitted with a small blush. "I went to some when I lived in New York City, which is crawling with them. There isn't a neighborhood block without one," she chuckled, smiling as she reminisced about lively jazz bands and the alcohol that penetrated her nostrils. As a proud Russian, she couldn't ever turn down good vodka. Her time in the Big Apple had been short, but they were sure eventful and memorable.

"So I've heard," Steve commented.

Natasha glanced at his face, finding him waiting for her to give an answer. She looked down, opting to chew on her lower lip as she feigned contemplating. Really, she had nothing to think of. She knew she was endangering herself out of a job by going, but if they had done it once without any trouble, then hopefully luck would follow them a second time.

"If you're absolute that we will not get caught…" she cautioned nevertheless to test his certainty.

Steve affirmed, "I promise we won't get caught."

"That's quite a promise, Mr. Rogers," she smirked.

"And I'm gonna keep it, Ms. Romanoff," he replied seriously, but then the corner of his mouth twitched.

Natasha found her little smile spreading at how strong he was at keeping his obvious enthusiasm at bay. Finally conceding, Steve explained to her what she needed to do and where to meet him. She listened intently, mentally copying down everything he was saying, which didn't sound hard. Just wait an hour after everyone was retired, and head to the car garage.

Sitting back on the table, the hall still vacant of any life, Natasha looked up at the clock, anxiously waiting for it to be 11 pm already.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> they're such rascals, aren't they ;-)
> 
> much love and thanks for reading! ❤❤❤


	9. There’s A New Star in Heaven Tonight

_May 16, 1926 – continued_

At exactly half past ten, an hour after his mother had bid him goodnight, Pietro threw off the covers and sprang into action as quietly as possible.

He tip-toed in the vast Cimmerian labyrinth that were the hallways of the Manor, from the east wing where the servants' quarters were all the way to the west wing. He broke into a run once he was outside towards the garage, where he already found Tony turning on his luxury Lincoln Phaeton and his brothers settling in the backseat.

Meanwhile, Wanda was in her cot, checking herself one last time. Chewing on her lower lip, she still didn't like what she was seeing being reflected on her little vanity mirror.

Though Natasha had told her that the Starks' female companions would bring their own night clothes for them to put on, Wanda still felt obligated to wear the best-looking dress she owned. Made of rayon fabric, it was a dangly midnight blue number with a lowered waistline accentuated with a sash. Her mother had gotten it for her two Christmases ago, and it was more of an evening dress than the frilly ones the wealthy girls her age wore, but it was what she owned. She knew she wouldn't feel comfortable wearing a dress that wasn't hers, a dress that would take her five paychecks to buy.

She also didn't have any makeup to speak of – God forbid her mother see her with even a slap of lipstick or a dash of eyeliner. They weren't allowed to wear it anyways, and since she _never_ went out at night, Wanda hadn't cared much for cosmetics.

A pinch to her cheeks, she slung on her black cardigan and patted her simple chignon for any loose tendrils. Feeling there was nothing left to fix, Wanda sighed and turned off her bedside lamp.

Two doors down, Natasha ran her fingers through her red mane of curls, cascading like a fiery waterfall over her back. It wasn't popular to have long hair, much less flaunt it in public, but for one night, she'd break the rules. She was tired of putting up her hair up all day, every day. The eyes would be on her, no doubt, and she didn't mind. It was nice to serve as a reminder that not every girl had a bob.

There was a light two-knock on her door. Picking up the signal they had agreed to that evening, Natasha looked back at her bare face and the clothes she'd certainly change out of for whatever their gal pals had brought. There was nothing eye-popping aside from her hair, which was just alright for her.

She went to open the door, finding Wanda on the other side. Without a word spoken between them, they moved through the somber darkness like ghosts, both grasping onto their T-strapped shoes in their fingers as their hosiery-clad feet barely touched the floorboards.

"I cannot believe we are doing this," Natasha gasped once they stepped into the courtyard and saw the Lincoln's headlights on.

Wanda chuckled nervously as she balanced on one leg to put on her shoes. "Too late to walk away now."

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

Natasha could feel the heat crawling up her neck, and taking a glance at Wanda, she too was feeling the embarrassed blush at Tony's words. 

"You want us to do what?" Natasha asked, her eyes flickering between Tony and his brothers already seated in the automobile. 

"There's not a lotta room so just sit on their laps," Tony repeated, holding the car door for them. "C'mon, they don't bite," he coaxed them.

Pietro, who seemed too awfully comfortable in the passenger seat of his master's son's vehicle, tilted around to face Wanda. His irritated expression threw her off. " _Samo uđite, sestra. Bar nije daleko odavde._ (Just get in, sister. The bar isn't far from here)."

Hearing Pietro speak in his native tongue pleasantly surprised Tony, who smiled at the nonchalant manner of their young chauffeur, and despite not understanding what he told his sister, quipped, "What he said."

Wanda and Natasha exchanged looks of uncertainty, but came to a quick conclusion. They were already out there, everyone was ready to leave, and they were risking getting caught standing there, debating the inevitable.

With a slick roll of the eyes, Wanda headed to the other side of the car where Bucky was. He extended his arm to hold the door open for her, and as she looked down at him and his awaiting lap, she felt her insides burn up.

" _Ne mogu da se prebacite mesta sa njim_ _?_ (Can't you switch seats with him?)" she begged her brother, but he simply waved a dismissive hand at her through the opened side window.

" _Sedit, Wanda, to je samo petnaest minuta disk._ (Sit down, Wanda, it's only a fifteen-minute drive)," Pietro scoffed lowly.

If she hadn't known any better, Wanda could've sworn Pietro was ashamed that she was making an issue of her sitting on top of a man, who just happened to be the son of their boss. The nerve!

Biting back a rude retort, she swallowed her annoyance and steadily lowered herself into the Lincoln. Her clenched thighs became cushioned right on top of his, and a shiver ran up and down her spine at the intimate feeling of being so close to a man she found very attractive. She kept her back erect as possible, not wanting to slink further into his chest and find out she never wanted to leave that warm space.

"You comfortable?" Bucky asked, his hands laid atop both of his knees that held her.

Taking note of how close his hands were to touching her dress, Wanda nodded. "Mhmm," she lied.

Directly across from her, she saw Natasha was trying to do the same thing. With the four of them there, it sure was very crowded. Natasha's throat tightened at how deathly close in proximity she was to Steve; she attempted to keep balance on just one thigh rather than both, but the knee bone dug unpleasantly into her bottom.

"Do you mind…" she shyly asked as she gestured at his legs.

"Oh sure," Steve replied, spreading them just enough to allow Natasha to sit in between.

"Thank you," she whispered. Stealing a peek at Wanda, she saw the brunette clutching onto the front seat as hard as she could, her body language obvious to any spectator: she did not like the position she was in. But one look at Bucky, at his relaxed composure, and Natasha wondered if Wanda could tell that, quite frankly, he was alright with her sitting on him. Unlike with Steve, whose cheeks and neck were already red, Bucky seemed completely undisturbed by having a maid in his personal space.

Tony flung an arm over his seat as he looked over behind him and smirked seeing his crammed passengers. "You floorflushers ready or what?"

Bucky rolled his eyes and snorted, slouching as much as he could into the leather seat. "Just drive, man."

Tony drove the Lincoln with the top up, but that didn't prevent the girls from the whole view of nightlife Los Angeles. Natasha, and especially Wanda, had little experience on how the city functioned at night. Owing it to the rule that they had to be in bed by 9:30 every night except Sundays, when that was pushed an hour ahead, neither them or the staff were aware of how different Los Angeles was from day to night.

Prior to working at the Manor, Natasha had circled the streets a couple times just to see how it compared to the bonkers entertainment scene that New York City offered on every street corner. The few speakeasies she had dared venture to, Chikara, Menotti's Bar and King Eddy Saloon, were just as glitzy and glam as the ones from the East Coast, but the young city still lacked the overall magnitude of the speakeasy, jazz clubs and racial diversity that New York was known for worldwide.

Wanda, on the other hand, was like a newborn baby. She knew nothing. Her mother had been strict on her and Pietro to stay away from the downtown area at night. She said it was crawling with Prohibition agents keen to bust anyone they saw who looked like they were inebriated or were sneaking out of a speakeasy they had yet to raid. It had been enough to scare Wanda not to step foot outside at night, but it got the opposite reaction from Pietro. He loved to surround himself in the opulence, not just because he wished he had the wealth of those he hung around, but he wanted to have a good time. It was a way of thinking that Wanda sometimes found herself envious of, to drop everything and live in a pretty bubble for a couple hours with people of a higher prestige. She figured she was finally doing exactly that, riding in the Lincoln of Tony Stark whilst sitting on the lap of his adoptive brother – and for once, she relished in the feeling that the usual chips on her shoulders weren't there anymore.

The tandem arrived at the parking lot of Cage's in spite of Tony's wildfire of a driving. Before he could even turn off the engine, Pietro had sprinted out, his excitement barely contained as he went straight for the empty restaurant.

Natasha and Wanda, both out of breath with their hearts pounding against their chests from the shot of adrenaline that was Tony's reckless handle of the wheel, hopped out of the Lincoln and stood off to the side as the Starks greeted their friends who had sat in their cars waiting.

The maids were completely forgotten for about five seconds. As soon as Laura spotted them awkwardly standing by, she pushed Tony aside and walked up to them with a wide welcoming grin.

"Hey there! My name's Laura, how do you do?" They shook hands. "You must be…" She paused, pointing a finger as she thought who was who. "…Wanda Maximoff?" Turning out to be right, Wanda nodded, causing Laura to smile even more wider. "Wanda! And you're Natasha Romanoff."

"So you're the maids these knuckleheads have snuck out," said a girl with rich brown skin, curly bobbed hair and mauve-colored full lips. "Name is Val, pleasure to meet y'all."

Seeing the females interact, Tony brought over the others. "Fellas, this is Wanda and Natasha. Wanda and Natasha, this is Sam, Clint, and Thor."

They all traded friendly waves at one another.

"This ain't your first rodeo at this, is it?" Sam asked with a smirk.

Natasha shook her head. "Not for me."

When Wanda didn't say anything, Sam's brow expectantly raised. "Well… you're not a heavy drinker, are you? Because last time we brought the others –"

At the mention of "the others", which Wanda assumed he was talking about Daisy, Jessica, Jemma and Bobbi, the men groaned, shaking their heads in displeasure while others chuckled under their breaths.

"–it was more than your average speakeasy whoopee," Sam finished explaining.

"Oh man, that one girl with the sailor mouth, remember her?" Clint commented, running a hand through his hair. "I still can't believe she didn't upchuck or get alcohol poisoning 'cause, boy, did she drink herself till the birds chirped in the morning," he chuckled.

"Hmm, not gud. Not gud at all." Thor agreed with a firm nod.

"Or that one gal, I think her name was - uhm - Jemma?" Sam continued. "Yeah, she was so quiet, wouldn't say a _single word_. Then, what, three drinks in, she's out on the dancefloor actin' like a vamp! I mean it, Starks, yall's maids…huh…" he shook his head endearingly with a smile. "Y'all be hirin' the low-key ones."

Tony guffawed, while Bucky snorted and Steve rolled his eyes.

"You slay me, Sam," Tony said in between laughs. "But just shut the fuck up."

"Alright, alright now, boys, let's get these girls ready," Laura announced, pushing Clint away from them, who in turn collided with Sam. "Why don't y'all head in, we'll be there in a few minutes."

Val guided Wanda and Natasha to Clint's Mercedes-Benz, trailed by Laura as the rest of the boys started to cross the street.

"We'll wait here," Bucky stated, him and Steve opting to stand on the sidewalk. 

The maids climbed into the backseat, Val and Laura taking up the front seat to provide cover for them. Laura reached into her haversack and shuffled through dresses to show them while Val checked her makeup bag to make sure she had brought everything.

"I brought some of my glad rags since Bucky said we're the same height. You can look at 'em, pick out whichever one you like," Laura offered nicely. 

"Oh, I couldn't thank you enough," Natasha expressed her gratitude as she gently took the haversack and gaped at the silky frocks.

"I am okay the way I am dressed," Wanda said, though from looking at the dresses, she did feel a pinch of covetousness. "But thank you for bringing them."

"Well then that means I can start on your makeup first," Val decreed.

Wanda did a double take, her face paling at the sound of the word being associated with her. "Makeup?" she repeated warily.

"Why, of course!" Val cried like it was the most obvious thing in the universe. "You can't walk into a juice joint with that baby face!"

Sensing Wanda's unease, which was understandable given her line of employment and the restrictions it came with, Laura lauded Val's cosmetic talent. "Trust me, Val will make you more beautiful than you already are."

"Oh honey, I'll do more than that – make you look like the bee's knees!" Val declared as she rummaged through the makeup bag and took out a small plastic bottle labeled foundation. "This is Laura's, just some base to cover up any flaws," she explained as she used the pad of her index finger to lightly dab it on Wanda's under eyes.

Whilst Val worked her makeup magic, Natasha removed the clothing she had come in and quickly changed into a bead-decorative deep red fringy mini-dress with a V-neckline.

Laura giggled in excitement at her choice of party gown, commenting, "You'll have the men goin' crazy with that voluptuous chassis of yours!"

Natasha blushed at the compliment. She organized her red cascade of curls at her back, and then let out a huff when she was finally done, feeling slightly tired from the all the fumbling around in the tight backseat of a car in the dark.

Laura reached into the bag and grabbed the same foundation bottle. "Now you come here, pretty girl."

The maids sat there, outwardly patient but inwardly anxious as they felt their eyes highlighted in kohl, lashes coated in mascara that Val proudly bragged was waterproof, faces set in translucent powder, cheeks touched up with rouge, and their lips rubbed with a red indelible stain that was shaped into a Cupid's bow.

When Laura and Val concluded on their works of art, they leaned away to get a better look at them, their eyes squinting to inspect if anything wasn't proportionate or needed a touch-up. The maids held their breath as they were scrutinized; Natasha was tempted to bite her lower lip while Wanda flatly wanted to look away in embarrassment. Finding nothing wrong with the finished results, Laura and Val simultaneously squealed and enthusiastically held up their compact mirrors.

"Look, look!" Laura exulted, her bouncing literally shaking the Benz.

"What do you think? Do you love it? Too much or too little?" Val questioned them with a lopsided grin.

The moment they saw themselves in the compact, they couldn't recognize who was looking back at them. Even in the dim light that the street lamps offered, they saw the big physical difference that makeup presented. Natasha had used some lipstick and rouge before, but nowhere near to the amount that Laura had put on her. And Wanda, poor Wanda, who was on the verge of tears seeing her amplified reflection; she hadn’t ever seen herself be so… _pretty_. She had often agreed with her mother's opinion that makeup wasn’t needed to emphasis sexual beauty – well, Val had managed to throw away that old conservative belief with one swipe of her powder brush.

" _O, moj Bože_! I - I cannot –!" Wanda wheezed, clasping onto the compact mirror and bringing it up close to see her darker, fuller eyelashes curled and her lipsticks, the brightest they have ever been in her life, with the spotlight on the Cupid's bow she didn't think she had.

"Let's see what Buck and Steve think!" Laura leaped from the front seat and urgently beckoned the boys.

Compact mirrors handed back to Val, she slipped them into the bag and stepped outside. She held out a hand for Natasha, who was very careful to get out of the Benz without ripping any part of Laura's gown. When she stood upright, the accompanying fringed shawl was draped over her shoulders, the dress giving the pillar-like illusion and making Natasha seem like she had been snatched out the page of a fashion magazine.

Laura hurried to Wanda's side, absently running her fingers through the sides of her hair that was tied into a chignon, bringing out loose tendrils to curtain her face.

Bucky and Steve approached them, their heads bent down as they talked to each other in hushed tones. When they were about two feet apart, Bucky was the first to look up, and he immediately seized into place. His lips parted at the two females standing in the seam of Laura and Val. Steve continued his pace until he noticed that Bucky had stopped walking, and following his brother’s eyes, Steve saw exactly why he looked wholly entranced.

"How'd you think we did, boys?" Val smirked, her cocksure pitch blatant as the two men were rendered speechless.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1920s slang used:
> 
> \- Floorflusher: an insatiable dancer  
> \- Whoopee: wild fun  
> \- Upchuck: vomit  
> \- Vamp: a seducer of men, an aggressive flirt  
> \- You slay me: That's funny!  
> \- Glad rags: "going out on the town" clothes  
> \- Juice joint: a speakeasy  
> \- Bee's knees: terrific; a fad expression  
> \- Chassis: the female body


	10. Reaching for the Moon

_May 16, 1926 – continued_

Even under the street lamp's amber glow, she could see the bright twinkle in Bucky's eyes. It was directed solely at her – not Natasha, Laura or Val – but at _her_. She tried to not focus on just his reaction, looking over at Steve too, but in those few inescapable seconds, she couldn’t help but revert to Bucky.

The brothers paid them compliments, although their voices sounded distant. All she could concentrate on was his blue eyes, how they seemed to say something that he felt but couldn't say aloud.

Whatever it was, it caused her to instinctively lick her red-stained lips. The minuscule action attracted his attention, his gaze staying too long on her lips, and when he finally raised them back up, she shivered at the intensity.

Wanda hadn't _ever_ been looked in that manner before.

Dubious, she wasn't. She knew that expression could've meant one thing. It was just hard to comprehend that he had felt it towards her. In the past she had been given glances of simple interest and curiosity, none of them heading anywhere because she was too preoccupied with her school studies, and later working at the Manor.

And of course, nobody had perused her with the level of lust and desire that Bucky had unexpectedly thrown her way. It was brief, but she had caught him, and she had no idea how to handle it.

Laura's pulling at her arm returned her to reality, and a bashful Wanda held her head low to hide the small smile playing at the edge of her mouth.

She followed them to the restaurant, making sure to keep her distance. Even with his back facing her, it was hard for Wanda to not stare.

Thankfully, the revelry of the Black Panther bar distracted her. 

It was like she had stepped into an alternate dimension, the hidden password-protected elevator taking them to a mysterious underground watering hole where self-indulgence was more than accepted – it was wholly embraced by the patrons. The hysterical notes of trumpet and saxophone bounced off the damask-decorated walls and came blaring back into her ears. The music oddly went in sync with the humid aroma of booze, sweat, and a touch of sex. The place just screamed uncensored decadence, from its ceiling taped with balloons of all colors, the woodened floors littered in wet peacock feathers, and a never-ending cloud of smoke burning from the Camel cigarettes and Corona rolled cigars. Even Wanda felt herself blush seeing the scantily dressed women dance, flaunting themselves unapologetically at their male partner in full view of everyone.

But amid the happy festivities, her eyes searched for a certain someone. Trying to find that mop of dark brown hair who had deserted her, the insufferable.

 _How could he leave me_ , she thought bitterly.

Before she could locate Pietro and yank his ear, Wanda's search was interrupted by two large dark-skinned men walking right up to her. She was no longer next to Laura; the tiny brunette had pranced back to her boyfriend. Squeezed onto Natasha's side, she felt so out of place. Rather than feeling free and invigorated, as she had imagined being in an illegal establishment hoping to have her first drink, Wanda wanted to crawl into a hole. She was quickly becoming overwhelmed, getting the sense that she didn't belong there.

Bucky introduced them to T'Challa and Luke Cage, the sons of the restaurant/bar's owner. They exchanged pleasantries, both Wanda and Natasha too shy to form a sentence. Then Danny Rand, who is like a brother to the Cages, popped up and kindly reminded everyone of what happened last time with the other maids.

The girls were then directed to a circular black lounge booth that was filled up exclusively by the Starks and their friends, sectioned off from the rest of the surrounding booths. As Wanda sat in the outermost edge of the booth, keeping a respectable distance from them, she was startled to see each of them - Tony, Laura, Val, Sam, Clint, Thor, Rhodey _and_ Pepper - already had drinks in their hands, a cig hanging on the side of their mouth on some of them. More tumblers, from highball glasses to shot glasses, occupied the little table centered in the middle of the booth.

"Hey where's Peg?" asked Steve. 

"Oh she went with Stephen and Bruce to Chikara," replied Sam. Wanda didn't miss the slight frown on Steve.

"Now they know better than to go over there," T'Challa smoothly walked up with a knowing smirk and surprise, surprise - a drink in hand. "You're Russian, correct?" He asked Natasha, who nodded from beside Wanda. He presented her with a glass filled with sunset-colored liquid and chips of ice. "Try this."

Natasha let out a chuckle, flattery written across her attractive face. She looked at the group, as if asking for permission to take it. They all glistened in anticipation, egging her to have a taste. That shook off any hesitation; Natasha brought her lips onto the glass and swallowed a mouthful of the drink, causing some of the women's eyebrows to raise and elicit whistles from Sam, Clint and Tony. 

"Vodka!" she gasped upon absorbing the cocktail. "With some lemon and… Bénédictine?" she guessed.

"Attagirl. You really are Russian," T'Challa sounded impressed.

"National drink," Natasha informed with a lively grin and a tinge of patriotism, taking another sip. "Mmm, this taste so good. I haven't had vodka in almost a year."

"Well lucky for you, we just got a few imported bottles," T'Challa then saluted the group. "Enjoy the night, y'all. And Tony, please, lay off the hooch, alright? My band doesn't need you to destroy their instruments again."

"I barely touched them!" Tony argued, despite T'Challa already aiming for the bar. "I barely touch –Pepper, darlin', I didn't lay a finger on that piano, you know that."

The redhead chuckled, grabbing the cig from him to puff herself. "If you say so honey."

Their friends laughed, and Wanda chimed in, feeling a little looser than when she had felt a few minutes earlier. She silently watched Natasha continue to down the vodka, politely shaking her head no when offered.

Soon the couples sprint towards the crowded dance floor. They smile at the shaking bodies and the upbeat jazz music. Although Wanda's guard is slowly wearing off, Natasha is bare and she doesn't hide it. The vodka had certainly put her in a comfortable mood, not to mention brought to life a wave of confidence. She extends an invitation to dance to Steve, and of course, the surprised blonde immediately takes it – leaving Wanda behind with only Bucky. 

Seconds ticked by, and even with the loud music and laughter around them, the silence between her and Bucky was deafening. She was highly aware of his presence, but she's afraid to look his way. She didn't know what to say, or how to act around him outside of the Manor. She didn't want to be rude and ignore him, but the nagging vibe of uncertainty ate at her.

She chose to wait for him to make the first move; it didn't take long. She heard him clear his throat and feels him scoot over closer but still maintaining a good comfortable space between them.

"How're you likin' it so far?" 

Meeting his eyes, her lips parted before her brain could process an answer. The humidity in the building was starting to stick onto her skin, and gazing at his ocean blue irises, they reminded her of saltwater. For an odd moment, she craved to drink it. Anything to form a connection to him.

"It is okay. Fun," she quickly corrected herself.

His brow rose amusingly. "Fun? Doesn't take much for you to have fun then, huh?"

Wanda shrugged, her cheeks heating. "It is my first time here," she pointed out. 

He pursed his lips, nodded emphatically. "Yeah I know the feeling. Wasn't long ago when I came here for the first time too." He paused, looking down at the icy lowball glass he held, and then back up at her with an inviting smile. "Here. Give it a chance."

Wanda considered the drink. It was crystalline, almost like it was lemonade. "What is inside?"

"Gin, club soda and lime. It's a gin rickey."

She wrapped her skinny fingers on the glass, a shiver running through her hand at how cold it was. She brought it close, but then wavered, realizing that she was about to drink from the same cup as him. 

"Go on," Bucky pushed softly, his gaze squarely on her and her pending reaction.

She took a lightning fast sip, but the drink still did its job. It was tart, terribly so, but to her delight, she didn't cough or have the need to clear her throat. Instead, she found she quite liked it and wanted more, but she kept that detail to herself. "Good."

Bucky grinned, then looked down as he lightly wiggled the drink to make the ice swish. "I had a feeling you'd like it. Figured you'd start with a sour one, not too strong. It's one of the best served here. And I heard it's one of F. Scott Fitzgerald's favorites." 

Wanda's brows knitted in confusion. "Who?"

"You know, F. Scott –" Bucky's astonished expression was suddenly alleviated, as if he had remembered to whom he was speaking to. He threw Wanda a sheepish smile. "He's a writer. A super talented writer who's just a couple years older than you and me."

Wanda hummed quietly, not knowing what to say. Even though her education hadn't lasted long, there was only class she had loved: English. It was a bit hard to read in the language, especially when coming across long words, but she hadn't let it discourage her from the beauty of the passage and its unknown meanings.

Nobody, not her mother or brother, knew that she often skimmed through the books in the Manor's library. She didn't bother to read since she had to clean, but just the soothing smell of parchment calmed her. She wished to tell Bucky to elaborate on the Fitzgerald writer, but she bit her tongue, assuming he couldn’t bother talk about those topics with an uneducated person.

Shoving that pestering thought aside, Wanda focused on Bucky. 

He raised the glass to his mouth, and it was too late. The faint damp residue of her red lipstick, outlined by the shape of her lips, was on the glass – and Bucky had directly placed his own mouth on it. His eyes bore crystalline holes into her, refusing to look away as he drunk the rest of the gin rickey. A tremble quaked throughout her body as she thought of him tasting her saliva.

_Had he done it on purpose?_

Her eyes instinctively flew to his mouth when he was finished. She stifled a laugh seeing his wet lips a darker shade of red. He appeared confused, but before he could do anything, Wanda outstretched her arm. With the pad of her index finger, she gingerly rubbed the corners of his lips to remove the lipstick deposit.

The instant their skins touched, Bucky's eyelashes fluttered slowly, and then his eyes clouded over. They silently stared at one another.

The music, the people, everything faded into the meaningless background. All Wanda could concentrate on was the man sitting less than a foot from her with magnificent blue eyes and a smile to die for. 

Even after smudging off the lipstick and placing her hand back into her lap, the contact had left an imprint on her. She wouldn't ever be able to shake off the sensation of his lips, soft and dewy. She really wanted to lick her finger in hopes of tasting him, just like he had done it with the cup. It was improper, unlady-like of her, but the reemerging lust in his eyes was beginning to unravel her defenses.

But a random wayward glance at the dance floor broke whatever trance they had been in.

Wanda's jaw dropped at the sight of her brother dancing with a pretty blonde whom she instantly recognized as one of the Starks' friends.

She sharply drew her breath in. "Is – Is that my brother?!"

"Hmm?" Bucky said, his voice aloof. He followed her wide eyes and then chuckled. Wanda briefly glared at him, agog that he would find the situation funny. Bucky didn't notice her; too busy peering at the dancing pair. "Oh yeah. Still dunno how _that_ happened. Except they're crazy for each other. Carol wouldn't stop talking about him at school. None of us knew his name or who he was, but it would've never struck us that she was talkin' about him."

"How long you know?" she demanded.

Hearing the accusation in her tone, Bucky attempted to calm her down. "Ah, it's alright, Wanda. Don't worry. It's just – It's a hanky-panky, nothing more. I know Carol, she – she's about havin' a good time."

Wanda furiously shook her head. Though it somewhat shocked her that Bucky was seemingly protecting her brother,  she didn't want to hear an excuse. Just what the hell was Pietro _thinking_? Getting involved with a... socialite, a debutante? How did they even meet? What would their mother do if she knew – or worse, if _Mr. and Mrs. Stark_ knew?

She was about argue again, explain to Bucky why it wasn't alright, when he stood up from his chair and extended a palm. 

"Dance with me?"

Wanda scoffed, immediately hoping she hadn't sounded too harsh. "Dance?"

Bucky gave her a nod.

Wanda stared at his hand, then at her brother whose arms were restricted on Carol's waist. Her lips pursed in silent anger, her voice just itching to unleash on her arrogantly stupid brother of hers. Then she settled on a pair of blue ocean eyes, his forehead creasing, like he was begging her to ignore the problem for the moment.

Taking advantage of the distraction he was bidding, Wanda acquiesced with a simple nod.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

_Stop gaping at her you idiot. She'll think something's wrong with you._

Clutching her little hand in one and her waist in the other, Bucky tried very, very hard not to gape.

But she was so beautiful, the bar's lights enunciating her cheeky round face, her green eyes rimmed with kohl and _God_ , those red lips. He hadn't ever been so mesmerized with the color red. It fit her perfectly.

_It'd be better if they kissed him. Then he'd be embellished with her red forever._

The jazz had slowed down to a soft piano melody, compelling many couples onto the dance floor. Wanda was scared, as to be expected. He had guessed that she didn't have much experience in dancing, so luckily for her, he knew a couple moves. Well, he knew _a lot_ , but he was in no hurry to teach her everything. They had all the time in the world for that. 

He peered down at her, loving how hard she tried to hide the fact she was nervous. She was dancing pretty well, aside from the occasional stepping on his foot. She blushed profusely and apologized every time, but he merely shrugged. She couldn't hurt him, not with her small feet.

Fixating on those cute moles on her cheeks, Bucky evaded from acknowledging the looks he could feel he was getting from his friends. Tony and Pepper, Clint and Laura, Thor and Val, hell even Carol and Pietro, he just knew they are throwing them suspicious looks.

Already picturing himself being bombarded with questions, Bucky mentally grimaced. Another thing he had to deal with, as it always was with them.

"You're doing great," he reassured her.

Wanda raised her head, and he caught a whiff of her scent. Lilac. "Thank you," she responded timidly.

He made a note to engage in more conversations with her. As an introvert, she was so shy. Yet so interesting, even if Bucky couldn't quite put his finger on it. What he was certain of was he wanted to know more about her.

It didn't matter to him that she was his family's maid. 

After the song ended, Bucky led Wanda back to the lounge booth, the palm on his hand resting on a small spot of her upper back. He was happy to find it empty; some of his friends were still dancing while others were hoarding the bar. Good. Then he'd have Wanda without interruption.

They took a seat and Bucky immediately sensed her reemerging discomfort. He slightly frowned; the last thing he wanted to do was to make her uncomfortable.

He scooted closer to her, catching her eyes darting back and forth from his proximity to her brother across the room, arm over Carol's shoulder. 

"You know," he started. "You really shouldn't be worried."

She settled on looking at him and it wasn't necessarily welcoming. "I do not think it is your business. With all due respect," she quickly added.

Bucky chuckled, admiring her bluntness. "Yeah you're right. It's not. But," he raised a finger and pointed it towards the blonde. "I know Carol. She's careful."

"This does not look careful to me," Wanda huffed.

"Well that's the whole point of a shindig like this," he gestured to the place. "Down here we can drink and have fun and just be ourselves. No one's judging."

Wanda didn't reply, just pursed her lips.

Bucky slipped out a cigarette from his pocket and slid in between his lips. He offered Wanda, but she kindly declined. After lighting it up, he reclined back into the booth, raising one leg and laying his ankle over his knee. He took brief comfort in watching his friends enjoying themselves - Clint, Laura, Thor and Val trading partners on the dance floor, Sam being showered attention by not one flapper but two, Tony and Pietro taking shots at the bar aided by their respective lady, and even Stevie slowly dancing with Natasha who was ogled by literally everyone.

Flickering his eyes back on Wanda, he saw she was still rigid. Though she was dressed for the occasion, Bucky could sense that she felt she was out of place. She didn't smoke, she didn't drink, she was limited in dancing, and the way she sporadically touched her face as if she wasn't used to wearing makeup. This girl was an outsider, her loneliness coming into the surface no matter how hard she wanted to keep it buried and be somebody other than herself.

Bucky was empathetic - he felt the same way in his own damn family. Steve was Marian's nephew, by blood he was cousins with Tony, and therefore, a Stark. Bucky, on the other hand, had no Stark ties. He was the outlier in the family. No matter how many times his parents argued the opposite, it was always there, that sense of misplacement, existing in the back of his mind. He feared it would never go away.

He lifted a steady hand and gently placed it on Wanda's shoulder, hoping it would soothe her. She broke from staring at her brother and looked at him with casted down eyes. She almost appeared miserable. Was she really that concerned about Carol and Pietro?

"Relax, Wanda," he practically begged her. He lightly begun pushing her backwards into the booth. She paused, like she wasn't sure if she wanted to be so near him again, but she gave in and leaned back, their shoulders touching.

"You know," he started, taking another drag of his cigarette. He didn't know what exactly he was about to do, but he wanted to change the topic and felt this was the only thing that would keep her concentration on him and no one else. "There's another reason why I brought you here tonight."

She shifted her face towards him, kind and imploring green eyes staring at him. The kohl was already fading, leaving very light smudges under them, as if she had drunk the whole night. He had a sudden temptation to lick his thumb and rub it off.

He softly cleared his dry throat and with a fleeting move, he rid of the burning cigarette into the ashtray on the table.

 _C'mon, get a grip man!_ he egged himself.

"I haven't, uh. Well. The honest truth is..." Though trepidation was rapidly setting in, sending his heart into a race, Bucky made himself return her stare. "I haven't been able to stop thinkin' about you." He admitted, and the brimming unease was gone. He always felt better when he was open, and with her it was essential.

Her eyes widened. Amid the blush on her cheeks, he could see her own natural coloring flare. "But... but I have known you for three days," she stuttered.

Bucky nodded, chuckling. "Yeah, I know. I know. It's confusing." A sudden thought popped up, and before he could understand what he was about to say, his mouth blurted out. "But you know, Romeo and Juliet knew each other for only 24 hours before they married."

Pausing audibly, her nose wrinkled with an amused expression. "You want to marry me?"

Bucky coughed in embarrassed.

_Romeo and Juliet? Really? What's wrong with you?_

"No!" He shook his head, heat returning to his cheeks. "No, _God_ , no. We're too young for that shit. What I meant is that - I just wanna, you know, get to know you more. That's, that's all."

"I do too," she murmured with a smile before it started to slip. "But I don't think your parents would allow it."

Ah. _That._ His loving parents. And their bothersome archaic rules. He understood the reasoning for enforcing such rules between master and servant, he understood it had a part in the morality of society. But at the same time he couldn't help what he felt.

"Look, honestly... I couldn't care less." He asserted. "Really, I don't. Consequences be damned, I don't care. I just wanna live _now_ , you know. And preferably with you, if you don't mind." He offered with a smile. 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Natasha kept on a neutral but welcoming face as she twirled on the dancefloor with Steve. Much to her amazement, the blonde could dance! He was the quietest out of his brothers, so she had supposed his shy and awkward personality would've been displayed through his footwork, but that was far from it. He knew exactly how to glide, the correct space between them, his hand on the center of her back rather than closer to her bum, and he hadn't even looked at his feet - not once. So she was impressed. Highly.

"It seems Bucky and Wanda are doin' alright," Steve commented.

He turned them around, allowing Natasha to locate the duo sitting on the lounge booth. Their shoulders touching, both gazing into each other's eyes and acting as if they were the only two people in the whole bar. Natasha's eyebrows flew up. There's goes another mark of high impression. Somebody finally got Wanda to feel! Which was good, the poor girl was so inexperienced in general life she was probably soaking it all up tonight. And good for her too.

"More than that," Natasha pointed out. "It seems Wanda has an admirer and she has become aware of it."

Steve leaned a bit into her; she didn't mind. "You think Bucky fancies her?"

She gave Steve a knowing look. "They both fancy each other."

He made a small _oh_ , nodding along to her observation. With one last look at the booth, turned them around once more.

The orchestra continued playing a smooth jazz melody. Natasha hummed under her breath to the soft beats of the trumpet and piano, loving how calm it made her feel. Steve's occasional staring diverts her attention from the music, but she doesn't let it affect her too much. She doesn't want to ruin this little moment.

"Do you have an admirer?" He suddenly asked.

Natasha's eyes flicker to his, a no-too-relaxed shade of blue. She can sense his desire to make conversation, so she goes along with it. Smiling, she replied, "No… but I think I do."

Dark blonde brows rose with intrigue. "Oh. Who may that person be?"

Cocking her head to the side, Natasha's red lips shifted into a smirk. There’s a dramatic pause, letting the moment drag on a second too much, and when she started seeing the kinks working in his mind, she simply said, "You." Followed by another timely pause as she searched for a reaction. "Am I right or wrong?"

Steve was clearly taken aback, but Natasha found herself loving everything about him being flushed in embarrassment. Cheeks flared, his footing suddenly losing its grace, head bowed down as he chuckled to hide his discomfiture.

"No," he said, still not meeting her gaze. "No, you're not wrong."

Natasha's insides squirmed at his admittance. For some unknown reason, hearing him confess she was right, that he was her admirer, elicited emotions she hadn't really felt towards a man. All the time, they showed interest in her, without allowing her a chance to reciprocate before they flung themselves on her. Which by then Natasha had been disgusted and fled.

But with Steve, sweet Steve, it was so different. He was a prime gentleman, courteous and righteous. His virtue was blatantly obvious, yet it was like he wasn't trying to hide it. Though he didn't flaunt it, he wasn't uncomfortable letting it be known that it was something he found important. And Natasha found it so attractive. More than his looks - which certainly weren't shabby - but just his sheer goodness that oozed from him. She swore she hadn't ever come across a kind and humble young man like Steve Rogers.

"I can't help it," he went on. He then finally looked at her and the back of her left knee slightly trembled. "I'm, uh, I'm drawn to you, Natasha Romanoff." He said unapologetically.

She inhaled, hoping it wasn't too sharp or hesitant and send him the wrong message that she wasn't interested. Because the new sensations wracking through Natasha's body exuded more interest than she could fathom.

Natasha squeezed his shoulder, not daring her eyes off him. "You know I could be fired over this," she said lowly, the edge of her mouth curving into a small shy smile.

"I know. And that won't happen." Steve assured her, returning his own little squeeze on her waist by a hand that had slowly lowered.

Biting her lower lip as the rush of adrenaline showed no sign of stopping, Natasha thought wistfully, _Nothing will be the same now._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> little prohibition fact: while researching drinks popular during the era, I couldn't find any that included vodka. turns out that while Europe had loads of it, America didn't because most Americans preferred cocktails over shots. it wasn't until Prohibition was repealed that vodka crossed the pond. the cocktail that Natasha drinks is based on the gypsy queen, created in the 1930s and one of the first vodka cocktails in the US.
> 
> once again thank you to everyone reading xoxo


	11. Everything's Gonna Be Alright

_May 22, 1926_

Any motion picture released by Stark Pictures was always a very big deal.

But the latest one to be completed on an unheard $2 million budget was unlike any picture ever made. Mostly shot on location in Europe with beautiful cinematography, groundbreaking realistic action scenes, and an electric tandem in its two main stars with powerful supporting characters, it was being billed as the greatest epic the world has ever seen.

And Howard Stark, America's Mustachioed Casanova, was determined to show his fellow filmmaking colleagues that he wasn't just an industrial genius. He didn't just create technology; he also created art.

More than 100 people that worked on the movie including its director Odin Borson, were invited to the Manor and its exclusive motion picture viewing room that Stark loved to show off at any chance. A mixture of Hollywood's top elite and gossip writers celebrated  _In the Name of Love_ , a silent romantic war picture scheduled to be released in theaters later that year.

Afterwards, the guests were taken to the opulent ballroom where the real lascivious party began.

As usual, Mr. Stark hired photographers to capture the evening of intermingling and networking. And as usual, their flashes were greeted with glamorous decadence.

Alcohol flowed freely, thanks to the barrels graciously provided by the Cages. There was plenty of food to feed about half of Los Angeles' population, yet the buffet tables remained relatively untouched, the guests preferring to drown their livers in the cocktail hour.

Because of the massive amount of people the Manor was hosting, bedchamber maids Jemma, Bobbi and Jessica were called upon to serve alongside Wanda, Natasha and Daisy. But as the night dragged on, the six maids were easily outnumbered, so personal valets Leo, Lance and Grant were brought in as reinforcements. Even then, however, the buzzed visitors had dispersed themselves all around the grounds that it was just nearly impossible to wait on all of them.

As midnight neared, Wanda idly stood behind one of several of Mrs. Stark's European imported free-standing exact replica statues in the main hall. She needed a moment to catch her breath from the ceaseless back and forth trips to the liquor room downstairs.

Wiping her forehead of accumulating perspiration with the back of her dainty hand, she took the little private pause to take a gander at the excesses beholden.

It reminded her of the Black Panther in spirit, but the entire manifestation was completely different. The Manor was far more elegant, perhaps the most aristocratic mansion in the state of California. Marble floors, furnished furniture, glass chandeliers hanging in every room, spacious lawns of green grass and a swimming pool that lit it into a silver lagoon, it was a repeat of the Black Panther but with inimitable grandeur.

And as she had been at the bar, Wanda was too intimidated to prowl around. She remained hidden, erect like the marble statue of Venus de Milo situated in front of her. She leaned the side of her body against the wall, crossing her arms as she became mesmerized.

The flock of celebrities dancing to the jazzy tunes of the orchestra and laughing as they yelled cheers over their drinks; it was an image she had seen more than once but couldn't ever get over it.

They seemed so happy, so free-wheeling. Like nothing could be wrong with the world - or rather, _their_  world. They conducted themselves in an indulgent yet nearly selfless fashion. Exploiting their wealth to each other, partying the night away was what they did best. And Wanda couldn't help the envy that seeped in. The act of fearlessness, the lawlessness they advertised; it made Wanda yearn for a taste of that unrestrained way of life. To be somebody other than who she was. To roll along with rich and like them, sit on top of the world.

But alas, the cards hadn't been dealt for Wanda. For she could only look on with coveted eyes as a circle of five actors and actresses whom she could pluck out and name at least two flickers she had seen them in raise their champagne glasses and toast for _In the Name of Love_  and a successful revenue.

Their raucous was then drowned by louder laughter. Coming in from the gardens off to the right side of the drawing room were Bucky, Steve, Thor, Sam, and Clint - children of the famous filmmakers. They ignored the drunken adults around them, finding a couch to lounge on without bothering anyone.

Wanda instinctively trained her green eyes on the young man with slicked black hair and a bow tie.

He sat on the couch, cigarette in between his lips. As he inhaled, he briefly looked up - and their eyes met amid the grey mist.

The corner of Bucky's mouth turned upwards. Wanda, frozen in place by his blue orbs, couldn't fight the blush overtaking her face. Memories of their conversation at the Black Panther was repeating over and over in her head.

_I just wanna live now, you know. And preferably with you, if you don't mind._

The flames in her cheeks grew as his eyes narrowed with a mischievous glint. The perspiration was returning. When had it gotten so hot?

Someone bumped her in the shoulder. "Well isn't this just nifty?"

Wanda blinked in surprise. She saw Natasha smirking at her, causing her to gulp.

"What is?" Wanda asked innocently.

Slightly elevating her chin, Natasha gestured to the drawing room. She simply replied, "Everything."

Following the redhead's eyes, Wanda saw that Bucky had looked away and was engaging with Thor. Steve, on the contrary, was locked on Natasha. It only lasted a second, and when Wanda turned back to Natasha, she was already walking the other way, probably to the pantry.

The summer gloaming dragged on, and the darker it became, the rowdier the guests became. Half the party had left by 1 am, but the ones that stayed behind were still dancing. The orchestra and its players had long been gone; Mr. Stark had brought out the phonograph so the endless melodies persisted.

The grandfather clock in the drawing ticked at ten till 2 am. Among the people shuffling across the floor was Steve and Peggy Carter, a less theatrical version of the tango as the bandoneon blared through the phonograph's horn.

Around the mansion, the staff had begun the first phases of cleaning. An exhausted Natasha was in the drawing room, still managing to be mindful of Steve's physical closeness to his former girlfriend as she cleared the tables of glasses, placing them on a large silver tray.

She then jumped when she felt a rough tugging on her elbow.

"Anyone tell ya you are one beautiful dame, missus?"

Natasha's nose was engulfed in the stench of alcoholic breath. She retracted from the dark-haired man, or actually young man who still had chubby cheeks and appeared no older than eighteen.

She didn't respond, opting to focus on getting all the glasses. It was that same slurred tone, one she loathed to hear, because it garnered her unwanted attention.

And he apparently didn't like getting the cold shoulder. 

"Hey!" he grunted, going for her elbow again, turning her with enough force that it made her lose balance of the tray. Luckily it landed on the table, but the banging sound it caused attracted the buzzed eyes of everyone else. "I'm talkin' tuh ya!"

Not being one to be pushed around by any man, Natasha grabbed his arm and tried to push him off. Before anyone could do anything or even react, Steve rushed to Natasha's aid. He came up behind the young man and though Steve was smaller, was able enough to shove him to the floor. Natasha gasped, as did some people, while others snickered.

"Remember your manners, Johnston!" Steve hollered, hovering above the shocked youth whose gelled hair was now a mess and his dress shirt wrinkled. 

Steve observed her with worried eyes. "Are you alright?"

Cognizant of the dozen pairs of prying eyeballs on them, two of them being Mrs. Stark and Peggy, Natasha mustered a quick nod and hurried out of the room, the glasses all but forgotten in a knocked over mess.

The last people left half an hour after the little incident.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

_May 23, 1926_

Natasha wasn't one to dwell on indiscretions. She strongly believed that people shouldn't worry about the past, whether it happened years before or just hours earlier. Life went on; it didn't stop to let everyone catch up. She soundly went to sleep with her arm aching in the spot where the Johnston fellow had wrangled her like she had stolen a jewel from him. She awoke a few hours later than she usually did, since it was Sunday, and acted like nothing had occurred except for another trademark wild Stark party. Because there was no reason to fret over the fact she had been manhandled and humiliated in front of Los Angeles' famous residents. Life went on, and she wasn't going to sulk around over a public but recurrent episode of mistreatment.

After breakfast, Natasha excused herself. Putting her hat and gloves on, she continued her usual routine of a Sunday morning walk on a trail at Franklin Canyon Park.

But this time she wasn't alone.

Steve had caught her leaving the Manor and wondered if he could tag along. Though he actually had looked like he had run a mile as if to catch up to her.

But nonetheless Natasha consented, feeling almost extolled that he had probably chased her down. It almost made her feel wanted. Almost.

Inevitably recalling the transgression of his schoolmate, Natasha expressed her gratitude. "Thank you. For last night."

Steve shrugged, his face downcast with disgrace. "I'm deeply ashamed, Natasha. My whole family is. No apology is enough for what you had to endure. Merrill," he groaned the fellow’s name. "He's – He acts all hard-boiled when he's intoxicated, but really he's just a high hat who can't hold onto one girl. But that's no excuse. What he did was reprehensible and I'm so sorry –"

Affected by the sincerity of his apology, sounding as if he had been the one to commit the act, Natasha smiled and interrupted him. "What happened, it happened and now it's over. Apology accepted, Mr. Rogers."

He coughed, cheeks reddening as he momentarily paused in stride. "Oh please, don't call me that. Steve will do just fine."

"Okay… _Steve_." Her insides squirmed saying his name aloud.

"And it's not enough. Merrill should apologize as well," Steve stated with determination. "I'll visit his house in the afternoon –"

Natasha stopped in her tracks and reached for the spot in her arm at the reemerging sensation of pain. She hated displaying signs of discomfort. "Oh no, please don't! I, uhm, it's not necessary," she hesitated as she rubbed her arm. "I'd rather not wish to see him again so soon after..."

At once, Steve's face softened. "Oh. Yes, I understand."

She gave him a small accepting smile and they returned to the trail. A quiet solace rested between them, both enjoying the fresh spring air and the singing of birds flying above them in the cloudless skies.

It was awhile before Natasha looked at him sideways. Tendrils of blonde hair blowing in the wind, she had a sudden urge to brush it off his forehead. With the sun hitting him from an angle, he appeared to her like an angel.

Inhaling once, she painfully admitted, "What you did last night... no one ever intervenes."

The expression on him wasn't exactly readable, but she could see the sadness behind those blue orbs. She didn't want him to feel sad for her; pity was the last thing she needed.

Then he nodded, as if he had deduced it was useless to feel sad or sympathy something out of his control. Steve took a single step forward, removing one hand from his trouser's pocket, and gently unfurled Natasha's gloved knuckles. She hadn't even realized her hands had balled at her sides.

"Well..." he started, the intensity yet tenderness of his eyes and voice making it impossible for Natasha to look away. He had every bit of her attention. "As long as I'm around, I won't let any man treat you so horribly."

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Some miles south of the park, a jittery Wanda sat across Bucky. They were at Cage's restaurant for lunch, a date of sorts they had planned after their first night out. It was relatively empty of patrons, which gave Wanda immense relief. Yet she still couldn't help herself and look over her shoulder ever so often, half expecting to see the horrified faces of her mother or Mr. Stark.

It didn't take long before she began having second thoughts. Despite appreciating the effort Bucky was putting in - if only she was of different social status she would irrevocably be his - she also recognized the risk they were valiantly, and maybe foolishly, trapping themselves in. To be out in public, spending the afternoon together... actions spoke louder than words. And this action could be interpreted as courting, which would spread like wildfire amongst his parents' circles.

"You _really_ need to calm down, darlin'."

Wanda looked at him in bewilderment, her fingers tingling with the itch to smack off his high-almighty smirk. He had said he didn't care about what they were doing, whatever _it_ was, but she hadn't considered him a complete sap either.

"My folks rarely ever come here to eat," he went on as if she had accused him of being precisely that - a sap. Perhaps her widened eyes had given her away. "Especially my mom; she likes to the Cages' but she'd rather not be seen interacting with them. Then my father, he usually handles his business downstairs with T'Chaka. So as you see -" He took a dramatic pause to take a sip of his cherry coke. "We are perfectly fine. No need for you to overthink things."

Wanda wanted to scoff at how annoyingly blasé he was being, but she held back. Instead she sighed silently and raised her fork to eat a slice of romaine lettuce from her Caesar salad. She temporarily distracted herself by focusing on the salad, which she had lately heard about from Jessica's tabloid magazines. It was all the food rage among the celebrities, so eating it, tasting what her idols were tasting, made her feel a tiny step closer to them.

Amid the crunching of croutons and black pepper came Bucky's smooth voice. She raised her eyes to find his on her frame, narrowed in thoughtfulness. He had barely touched his own salad, spending the fifteen minutes they'd been there inquisitively gazing at her instead.

After taking another swig of his water, he started. "Last night... I saw how awestruck you looked." His lips quirked into a knowing smile. "I know because it's how I look and feel all the time, believe it or not."

Wanda blinked, her brows furrowing in confusion. What was he implying?

"You are not used to your lifestyle?"

Bucky surprised her immensely with a firm shake of his head. " _God_ ... no," he confessed. "The glitz and glamour, in businesses where I'm surrounded by people who are viewed as gods and goddesses, with a lifetime of earnings that will benefit their grandchildren..." Again he shook his head, apparently at a loss for words. He wasn't the only one. "I mean, it's both remarkable _and_ suffocating. It's difficult enough to be the son of a multimillionaire. I can't imagine what his colleagues go through on a daily basis, to be living under the public's microscope, their every move scrutinized until there's no words left to type."

Wanda had no clue on how to respond, much less give a comforting nod of understanding. She had never thought about the "other half." Preoccupied with earning a living, she hadn't wasted her time ever thinking of affluent people like Mr. Stark or her silent film idols. In her eyes, they had everything the world had to offer at the palm of their hands. To her, they didn't know the struggles of an average citizen.

But then again, everyone had a humble beginning. Whether they were born privileged or in the slums. Nothing was guaranteed in life - and that was something Wanda found she found in common with the "other half."

"I'm thankful for my parents, more than I can ever describe." Bucky continued, the touching sincerity tone unmissable. "If they hadn't adopted me... I could be livin' off in the streets of Brooklyn. A penniless hoodlum. Or worse, I could very well be dead." He paused, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed, then nodded to himself. "But I'm not. I'm here, breathin', a healthy lad with my life mapped out right in front of me. I owe them... I'll always owe them for this."

Her grip on the fork rapidly lessened, forcing her to let it slip into the bowl before it could on her lap. She inhaled once as distant memories she had tried hard to lock away resurfaced in fast blurs, one after the other, to death of her father, sleeping on the cold pavement in Transia, to the weary and vomit-induced voyage from there to Ellis Island, brought by a kind and mild-mannered man who treated her mother like the angelic queen she was.

"If not for my stepfather we would not have left Sokovia." she admitted, resting her hands on either side of the bowl, which she stared at. "The war killed my father and my mother was on her knees trying to not only provide for us, but keep us alive. My stepfather... he saved us."

A lull began to set in the conversation, and then Bucky gently noted, "Then we're both indebted to someone else."

Slowly Wanda's head lifted, her frowned mouth uplifting just a smidge. Her features relaxed as his statement settled in the air around them, no longer tensed. She could sense another wall getting torn down, his roots growing around her. But it wasn't choking her; instead, miraculously, it was breathing new life into her. He was seeping into her veins, pumping fresh blood inher latent cells and dormant heart.

Bucky's hand reached across the table, past his bowl and hers. The pads of his fingers tickled hers, his index finger tracing a knuckle. Wanda held her breath, goosebumps popping up around her arms as she reveled in his touch.

But before Bucky could fully grab her hand, a wave of sense swept through her and Wanda sheepishly pulled back. She saw a tinge of hurt in his eyes, the grimace of his demeanor as his shoulders slumped and he looked quite deflated at her seeming rejection.

"Not in public," she whispered with a blush.

Under the table, she crossed her legs. Unmistakably, she stretched her ankle, rubbing it against his for a second or two. Bucky, astounded, threw her a smirk. And for the first time in _so long_ , Wanda wasn't afraid to be hopeful of the future.

 

 


	12. My Pretty Girl

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> little note: in the story steve isn't physically small or sickly as he is pre-serum, or buff and strong as he is as cap. he has cap's height, but without the giant ass muscles or health issues. so I guess a normal looking gorgeous Chris Evans ??? Lol  
> sorry if that's confused anybody

_May 24, 1926_

It was towards the end of breakfast, idle chattering going around the table, when Mrs. Stark sneaked up on them. None of them had heard her approach, not even the ever-conscientious Jarvis.

As soon as her svelte figure appeared before them, utensils and cups were immediately dropped and up went the bodies of the staff into standing position. Their once relaxed faces sunk into a servant's blank, eyes staring ahead into nothingness, just awaiting their command. Silence permeated throughout the room. Wanda focused on an unbuttoned button on Lance Hunter's grey vest.

"Oh, I'm sorry for interrupting - I assumed you all would have been finished -" she started. Her soft voice caught the eyes of some, including Wanda. She stood by the entrance in a simple dark blue cotton dress, skin-matching stockings and low T-strapped heels. Her blonde hair pulled up, her face was given full coverage, and from the way her cheeks were flushed, Wanda supposed she looked quite awkward with the reaction she garnered.

"No need for apologies, mistress; we _are_ finished." Jarvis curtailed. "Please, do carry on."

Clasping her hands over her stomach, Mrs. Stark tentatively neared the table, opting to stand beside Mrs. Jarvis and her husband who dwarfed even her, whose height was beyond the current standards.

"Well, I just wanted to offer a reminder that this upcoming Saturday is Tony's birthday. And as you should know by now, accustomed to my son's... lavishly nonsensical tastes for 'having a swell time', I'm fully anticipating another party like the one we just had. Just with youths this time." she chuckled, earning a few tight-lipped smiles from the servants.

"So in light of that, I've ordered many packages that will be delivered over the week. I've given Mrs. Maximoff and Mrs. Johnson the frameworks of where I want all the ornaments placed, as well as the menu which I've entrusted with Mrs. Palazzo, so if any of you have any questions, don't hesitate to ask them." After gesturing at them, Mrs. Stark let her arms hang by her side and she bowed her head a bit just as the flush on her face returned. "Well, alright then. I'll let you get back to your meal. And Katia, if you could come see me when you're done, I need to run some errands."

"Of course, mistress." Mrs. Maximoff nodded.

And with one last look around the staff, Mrs. Stark smiled curtly and retreated up the stairs. Soon the room erupted into animated talk between the servants about the impending chaos was surely to come with the party. An eccentric, outgoing person like Tony Stark who didn't hide his preference for finer things in life, Wanda had seen him up close how he loved to have a swell time, like his mother had playfully put it. In the _very_ short time she has known him, it was obvious this wise-cracker was the party animal of his family. She could only imagine what the young graduate had in mind for the celebration of him entering his 20s.

She sat back down in her seat to drink the last of her coffee and her eggs and bacon. Her first break wouldn't be till noon, so it'd do her some good to eat all her food to keep her stomach full for a few hours. Around her, as seats were shuffled and everyone readied themselves for the day's workload, Wanda's ears perked in on the conversation across from her.

"Saturday was darb enough! Back to back parties, I'll say..." Jemma said in astonishment as she took a bite of her third croissant. "And like the mistress said, it's goin' to be only youths out there! People _our_ age! It's gonna turn into a petting party!"

Natasha and Bobbi giggled, while Jessica rolled her eyes. "Why are you so dramatic? In all likelihood, it'll be like last year's gathering," she shrugged.

Jemma choked on her coffee, causing some droplets to sprinkle on her upper lip. Jessica wrinkled her nose in disgust as Jemma dried her lip with a napkin. "How can you nonchalantly mention last year? Last year it was... it was ghastly and... and very _inappropriate_."

"What happened last year?" Wanda asked.

Jemma winced, looking at her with wide brown eyes. "Oh, you don't even wanna know -!"

"Don't listen to her..." Jessica proposed monotonously.

At Jessica's lame input, Jemma spoke up, not about to let it slide. "I beg to differ! You thought Saturday was chaotic..."

"Just imagine a good two hundred people spread around the ballroom, the drawing room, in the gardens... some of them swimming, pouring bottles of wine worth well over a million into not one but both pools, maybe even see a couple of them necking in the grass... _uncovered..."_ Bobbi _tsked_ , even though she fronted a full smirk.

A flurry of snickers, except for a red-faced Jemma, flittered through the air. Wanda, shocked by the details, tried to shield her laughing behind her palm.

"As I said," Jemma huffed as she rose up with her chin held high, trying to keep calm. "Inappropriate."

Though Wanda wasn't one for gossip – she received plenty warning from her mother to rise above and ignore it plainly – this certain story was shaping up to be unlike anything she had heard before. Once Jemma was out of earshot, Bobbi renewed the lurid tale of debauchery in hushed tones to the expecting ears of Wanda and Natasha.

"She does have a point; it _was_ inappropriate. Have you seen _The Plastic Age_ with Clara Bow? Imagine all that partyin' from the picture muddled into one night here in the Manor." Bobbi blew a low whistle. "I know I never _ever_ will see as many... naked people I did that night." She shuddered.

"The only reason that happened was because the missus was in New York. Master Tony didn't inherit his insatiable indulgence from her," Jessica insinuated with a raised brow. 

The implication didn't fall deaf on Wanda. She had definitely heard of the endless reports of the womanizer Howard Stark, holding out until he was in mid-30s to marry a young middle-classer in Marian Rogers. Their eldest son sure hadn't gotten his luxurious gratification from his mother – he truly was his father's son, even if they didn't see eye to eye on literally everything.

"And it didn't do us any good when Mr. Stark passed out before midnight! It left to us servants and Jarvis to look after the guests and a couple of crashers in the gin mill they had turned the Manor into. The last of 'em left around 6 am, I believe, but we had more than a dozen who spent the night. Whether it was on a couch or a bed or the bathroom floor, I have the faintest clue." Bobbi said, aimlessly waving a lanky hand.

"The bathroom _floor_?" Natasha gaped.

Bobbi nodded, unfazed by the incredulity of the story she was delivering.

Hand on her hip, Jessica leaned in with a naughty smirk. "Before I went to bed, I was perusin' about in the second floor. I heard noises comin' from Barnes' room; the door was open so I took a peek to ask him if he was alright. And, cross my heart-" She breathed in as she motioned an imaginary cross over her chest. "I saw him strugglin' to pick up some gal with a face that awfully resembled Mary Astor. If you ask me." She added for good measure.

Wanda blinked at the mention of the silver screen actress. By the looks of it, Natasha was finding Jessica's chattering all too amusing. Wanda couldn't disagree with that.

"Well no one _is_ askin' you, Jess," scoffed Bobbi, rolling her eyes. "And I highly doubt it was Mary Astor you saw."

"It is a good thing I was forewarned then," Wanda muttered. Bucky had alerted her of the party madness Tony had in store, but she couldn't never have guessed the epic proportions it was shaping up to be.

"I heard that the Cages are going to gift Master Tony with barrels and barrels of liquor and beer," Natasha mentioned.

Bobbi winced at the information, while Jessica's eyes widened and promptly groaned, "This house is gonna be a roadhouse by Sunday mornin' –"

The four maids were jumped back into grey reality by Jarvis' smooth yet still booming British voice directed at them. Scuffling, they rose up, turning into statues with heads heaving as they avoided receiving an icy glare.

Clearly disgruntled, Jarvis drawled, "Ladies! I am sure your conversation can be resumed _after_ you have all done your duties for the day."

Without a word, the maids scattered around the vacant dining hall. Wanda made a grab for her plate and silverware while downing the rest of her cold coffee as she tried to remember at what time Mrs. Stark's guests arrived. She'd have to ask Natasha before she went up to the drawing room to start sweeping –

"Did Master Bucky warn you about the birthday party?"

Wanda spun around to catch being stared down by Daisy, dark brown brows furrowed in an almost suspicious-looking expression. Tensed arms crossed over her chest, calculating eyes narrowed on her, unease settled into Wanda's gut.

"Yes," she whispered, and then cleared her throat to speak louder. Oddly, she didn't want to appear intimidated. "He did."

Daisy nodded once, but she wasn't satisfied. She wanted to know more, so she continued to press. "Are you... do you fancy him?"

Wanda coughed. "Um. I - I am not..." Her voice faltered as Daisy's face strained, as if determined to hear her every breath. Wanda felt the heat crawling up her neck, unsure whether to be truthful to someone she had grown close to and yet recently drifted apart. "I don't know... Exactly."

Daisy's face blanketed. Her features slackened, and Wanda realized it was a response she hadn't expected. She had been caught off guard. Wanda knew there could only be one reason for her sudden change of demeanor and it wrecked her to turn the tables on her. After all the intimate moments they had shared. 

"Oh, D-Daisy..." she stuttered, mentally kicking herself for allowing a semblance of Daisy's influence to continue linger over her. "You are such a good friend. But... nothing can happen," she reminded her as kindly as she could in rejecting her. "Between... _us_."

Daisy swallowed, and for a moment it was deathly quiet besides the clanking of pots and pans coming from the kitchen. Then suddenly sticking out her chin and straightening herself, Daisy leaned in and issued a caution that made Wanda's blood run cold.

"Nothin' can happen between you and Master Bucky either."

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

There was no trace of wind, just endless sunshine with balmy temperatures reaching about 68 degrees.

Silver tray in her grasp, Natasha silently strode towards the clear blue poolside where Mrs. Stark and her two guests were reclined on the cushioned bronze chaises under the crimson red umbrellas.

The guests sitting on either side of Mrs. Stark were Jeri Hogarth and Melinda May, two producers employed by Stark Pictures. Natasha didn't know much about the quiet Ms. May, other than she was the biggest – and only – Chinese-American film executive in the business. From interactions Natasha had glimpsed between her and Mr. Stark, it seemed he relied much on her guidance.

And then Ms. Hogarth, well, Natasha probably knew more about the lady than she should. The dark-haired, sharp-faced Hogarth was one of the most powerful women in Hollywood, and so with exposure comes the sacrifice of total privacy. She has been married to Phil Coulson for nearly 20 years, but from what Natasha has heard through the grapevine, it's a lavender marriage. Apparently, Coulson put the ring on Hogarth knowing she was a lesbian. Why he did it, nobody really knows. Some people purport that Coulson may have been in love with Hogarth, but Natasha supposes that even if it was true, he must not feel the same anymore. For they reportedly share different bedrooms and conduct a variety of affairs.

As she neared them, Natasha cleared her head of the tantalizing gossip. She focused on the task at hand, handing Mrs. Stark and Ms. May glasses of freshly squeezed lemonade, and a Tom Collins for Ms. Hogarth.

Natasha didn't pay much mind to the ladies - whatever they were saying was too low for her to hear properly anyways. But then as she turned to go back into the Manor, Ms. Hogarth spoke up.

"My, my, you're a pretty one. But I'm sure you've been told this before."

Natasha froze on instinct. Was she being spoken to?

She leisurely turned her head, finding piercing blue eyes trained on her, dark sunglasses discarded on the glass table beside her drink. She looked at Mrs. Stark, but she was drinking her lemonade and going off as if she hadn't heard anything.

"T-thank you, Ms. Hogarth."

Her eyes constricted a bit at the edges, a ghost of a smile playing on her thin red ruby lips, striking against her alabaster skin. "Hmm - is that an accent I'm hearing? Where are you from, darling?"

Natasha didn't think twice on her answer. "Russia."

Jeri's eyes further narrowed with intrigue. "Russia? Don't you mean the Soviet Union?"

Her heart tugged at hearing _that_ name. She hated it. "I mean Russia, ma'am. The country it has become... I don't recognize it."

Ms. Hogarth beamed at the glimmer of defiance. "Well, God save the Tsar!"

"Oh, Jeri!" exclaimed Mrs. Stark with a frown. "Please don't."

Ignoring her host, Ms. Hogarth grinned at Natasha, exuding excitement as if she was a shiny new diamond like the studs on her ears. "Why, aren't you a feisty one? More than just pretty. No, you have guts and I commend you. In this country you have the right to express yourself freely and if you don't want to recognize the Soviet Union, then so be it!" she announced. "And I don't blame you, darling, for I wouldn't recognize them either. Although I favor democracy over monarchy, your Empire was peaceful. Now..." she sighed, surprising Natasha that she would feel or at least appear to be concerned. "Well we now have to deal with the Bolsheviks and Communism and... just so much red shit."

"Red shit? How eloquent of you." snorted Ms. May as she took another sip of her lemonade.

Ms. Hogarth went on, disregarding her colleague's remark. "We need some of your spunk. Good Lord knows all the actresses these days are so finesse, stinking of naivety and innocence. We could use a girl of your defiant personality. With your looks you could nab a couple extra roles at Stark Pictures, be featured in a couple pictures -"

"My goodness Jeri!" scoffed Mrs. Stark, removing her own dark shaded sunglasses to express her shock at her friend's behavior. "You might not have noticed, but Natasha is already employed."

"And be subjected to a dreadful life of a domestic servant? Haven't you heard of the American Dream?"

"Thank you, Ms. Hogarth," Natasha quickly repeated, noticing the wrinkles on Mrs. Stark's face as she looked bewildered at Ms. Hogarth. "You're too kind. But I don't belong in the motion picture business." 

"Oh, but -!" 

"You heard the girl, Jeri, give it a break," exasperated Ms. May.

"Oh, alright," Ms. Hogarth muttered in defeat. She reached for her glasses, placed them on and reclined back into the chaise as she drank from her glass.

It was quiet again, and Natasha was no more ready to bow and scamper off to not cause anymore problems. Then,

"Mother!"

Ears perked up, all the women faced the direction of where the voice had come from.  

Jogging across the gardens, sun rays radiating off blonde hair blowing back in the wind, was Steve. Natasha's heart suddenly started to pound. She no longer wished to get away from the pool. She wanted to stay right there.

Their eyes met for a quick glance before he greeted the guests and faced Mrs. Stark. Natasha stood off to the side, behind the chaises and directly in front of Steve. She kept her face low to hide her nervousness.

"Are you going somewhere darling?" she asked.

"Yes - Bucky and I are going into town to buy a tuxedo for Tony's birthday."

Mrs. Stark smirked. "Don't you have enough tuxedos?"

Steve chuckled, shrugging a shoulder. "It's been recommended that we look our very best."

"Ah," Mrs. Stark understood, chuckling along with her son. "Well then. Drive safely."

He bid the ladies goodbye, and just before he left, Natasha raised her head slightly. Peeking through her long lashes, she took another gander at Steve. He did the same, and Natasha immediately looked away, cheeks aflame. She waited a few seconds after his departure to clear her throat and ask Mrs. Stark if she needed anything else. She said no, so Natasha gave her a nod and excused herself. She walked across the gardens and then on the trail of Pennsylvania bluestone tiles, humming to herself as she aimlessly thought of what she was going to eat for her first break, which she dearly hoped would be soon because her empty stomach was already beginning to ache, and the soles of her feet were starting to hurt.

As Natasha walked through the alleé of Italian cypress trees, tray hanging loose on her fingers on her left side, a strong hand suddenly reached out from one of the conifers and grabbed ahold of her forearm. Natasha gasped as she was shoved against a tree.

" _Oh!_ " she gasped, her mind confounded. She searched for the person that rudely snatch her, and what she saw were two blue lakes staring back at her. It couldn't have been - "Steve!"

His hand remained on her arm, the other hovering over Natasha's hand as he looked down at her, flushed with embarrassment. His warm breath hit the bridge of her nose, reminding her how close he was to her. "I'm sorry, I'm being direct but... I couldn't help myself," he admitted lowly. "I... I missed feeling you in my arms."

Natasha could barely hear him over the beating of her heart, thumping loudly against her chest. Golly, was he so adorable. "You... you're kind, Steve. But... you're much too young to say such things to me."

"Young?" Steve raised an amused brow, stepping back from her. "I'm not young."

"Remind me your age," Natasha smirked, cocking her head. "I can't seem to recollect..."

"My own birthday is in less than two months."

"Goodness," Natasha laughed freely. Then remembering who she was speaking to, she covered her mouth as her laughs died out. "You're not even of legal age."

"Not officially yet, but," Steve unexpectedly leaned in, crossing her invisible personal space. Natasha felt her eyes widen as she craned her neck upwards to look at him, blonde fringe falling in wisps above his blue eyes. She felt dizzy. "You needn't worry about it."

They were awfully close, closer than when they had danced. So close she could see some specks of green in his blue irises, the dark color of his brows and lashes, his very pink and plump lips... And then with a smile, he was gone. Pacing back towards the Manor, his broad back facing Natasha as a gust of cold air flew by her.

She was left there, dumbfounded. Even with her feet screaming that she sit down and her stomach to be stuffed with food, Natasha didn't dare move. All she could think of was him, rub her arm in the spot where he had held her, the soft timbre of his voice echoing through her mind.

_I missed feeling you in my arms._

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> slang used:
> 
> \- darb: a great person or thing  
> \- petting party: one or more couples making out in a room or auto


	13. Shut the Door

_May 26, 1926_

There were yells and groans of all types of exasperation – or just more of Tony Stark's contentment and Bruce Banner's frustration – coming from the Manor's tennis court.

Their knit vests discarded, both had the sleeves of their white stripped shirts bunched up to the elbows. Their long pants held by suspenders that weighed on their shoulders as they ran nonstop back and forth on opposite ends of the court, both yielding a wooden racket as they released hit after hit on the bouncing ball between them.

There was a chalk board on the other side of the fence, lying against the legs of a table that held a jug of iced water and two glasses. They had been playing for nearly two hours under the simmering California heat and after three sets, it was abundantly obvious as to who the winner of the match was going to be.

Tony knew it was an unfair challenge to begin with. His opponent, bless him, wasn't born for sports. If God had gifted him the most intelligent brain, then Tony could only assume that something had to be forfeited in return. And although he was getting slightly better, Bruce still had so many hurdles to jump before he could even be thought of as an athlete.

His eyes strained and the windless heat wearing on his body, but determined to finish the match, Tony sprinted to his right. He gave the ball a hard-hitting whack and the ball flew right back at Bruce. But he was on the other side, and he stuttered for a second before resigning as the ball flew past him. Tony's mouth, though slackened, broke out into a grin as he delivered the fatal blow to his best friend whose physical shortage still remained unquestioned, thanks to him.

"Ah yes!" Tony shouted victoriously, pumping his fist into the air. "I win! Again."

"Ugh, I hate you," Bruce heaved. He was covered in sweat, from the lines in his forehead to his entire back, and even around his groin area. He lamely threw the racket and trudged towards the table for a much-needed gulp of water.

"Don't hate the player, hate the game," replied a haughty Tony. 

Bruce hummed gratifyingly as he quickly swallowed the water. "Oh shut it," he grumbled as he poured himself more. After drinking that round, he took a couple breaths and looked at Tony with a raised dark brow. "Speakin' of hate, I have a feeling that I'm not gonna enjoy this upcoming party of yours."

"What? Why'd you say that? I can't wait!" Tony beamed. "So many people are coming, Bruce. I saw the guest list –" he paused with a chuckle. "My parents have really done it this time. Some names I don't even recognize."

Bruce said nothing for a moment. He simply stared at his friend, wondering how in the world he became acquainted with someone so brilliant yet self-centered. "You just couldn't have a little get-together? Could you?" he huffed.

"Look who you're talkin' to, buddy," Tony gestured to himself as he smirked devilishly. "I don't even know what that means. 'Little get-together'," he scoffed. "Dunno what that means..."

Bruce rolled his eyes. "Sure you don't."

They stood there for awhile, their bodies slowly relaxing from the stamina they had exuded during the game. 

"I don't even know what to give you!" Bruce added as he wiped off perspiration forming on his upper lip.

Tony shook his head. "Oh, you know you don't have to give me _anything_ , Bruce."

Bruce snorted; he didn't believe him. "What? Don't say –"

"I said don't give me anything," Tony interjected a bit more sternly.

"But –"

"But nothing!" Tony gave him an astonished look, feeling almost insulted that it surprised his friend that he didn't want to receive gifts. Granted, he _loved_ receiving them, but he oddly found himself not wanting much of that this coming year. Whether it was due to his maturity, he wasn't sure. "I don't need anything from you. Just be at the party."

Bruce finally looked away, his lips pursing as he refilled his glass. "Yeah... about that..."

Tony, already sensing his never-ending reluctance, placed his cup down and crossed his arms over his chest.

Dark brown eyes narrowed in suspicion, he asked, "You're not bailing, are you?"

Bruce shrugged cautiously, averting his friend's acute gaze. After a beat, he murmured, "Well..."

Tony immediately flung his arms around him in irritation, slapping his palms on his hips. "Ah c'mon Bruce!"

"Just – listen!"

Tony groaned in annoyance, ignoring any excuse that Bruce was about to give him. "You're like this every year! Every year!"

"Listen for a minute! Alright?" Bruce practically begged him, his voice flustered. "How many people are gonna be here?"

Tony shook his head again as he tried to remember the endless list of names that his parents expected to be at his party. "Uh, I dunno. We've invited, I assume... Six hundred people, maybe?"

Bruce gaped. Though something in the back of his mind told him it shouldn't be a surprise, it nevertheless was. "S-six hundred?"

Tony merely shrugged. "Give or take, yeah. And you know no one turns down a Stark invitation."

"Yes, I am aware of that," Bruce reminded him without much fondness, scratching the back of his neck to push away one particular memory of Tony's birthday party two years earlier. "It's just – I don't know, I'm not very good with... crowds. Talking to... people. As you know..."

Tony nodded away, but he wasn't really hearing him out. He had already heard this excuse, which was pathetic if he was to be honest eventually, for as long as he had known Bruce. And yet he was always managed to be brought along, even if he was quiet and kept to himself. But as of late, for some reason, it was beginning to be harder to coax Bruce to attend large functions. School was over so that potential issue was exempted. Tony didn't know what else to think – except for one thing that he knew would draw Bruce's ire, but only because it was true. Nothing hurts more than the truth.

"Stephen will be there," Tony offered quietly, hoping it would be enough to get Bruce out of his ass and go to the party - if not for his damn friend, then at least for the boy who unknowingly held his heart.

However, at the mention of Stephen Strange, Bruce's eyes widened in alert. Though he was shocked that Tony would say his name out loud around him, the blushes scattering around his cheeks revealed what he really felt. Still, his face scrunched up and a dark cloud formed over his already dark eyes. 

"Hey Tony –  _dry up_ , huh?" snarled Bruce, slamming the glass on the table and turning to leave.

Taken aback, Tony followed him out from the tennis court. "Hey!" he piped up. "What d'you –"

"You know _exactly_ what I –" Bruce countered angrily.

"Don't get soft on me, now –" Tony didn't finish his sentence because Bruce had abruptly turned around to face him. Though they were both the same height, it felt like he was staring up and it left him uncomfortable.

Bruce leaned in, whispering harshly, " _I'm serious, Tony._  I'm not goin' soft, just..." He faltered, softening a bit as the cloud was lifted from his eyes. His lips were no longer tight in agitation; he was frowning. "You just – You can't say things like that. Alright?"

"I know, Bruce, I know," Tony sighed. "But c'mon, bud. It's just you and me," he said gently, waving a hand between them. "No one else is here. You don't gotta be ashamed. It's the 1920s, for cryin' out loud. You know very well what people our age are doin'. It's an exploration unlike the world's ever seen. And... there's no judgment. As it should be."

It was silent for a couple minutes, just the chirpings of birds and the off-distant sounds of car horns and engines.

"I know." Bruce finally conceded. "But... just don't say it out loud. Okay?"

Tony nodded understandingly, lending a heartening hand on Bruce's shoulder. "Of course, pal."

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

When the mistress's floral arrangements were delivered via truck, Mrs. Jarvis took aside the upstairs maids from their daily duties and directed them to spread around the arrangements around the gardens. Jessica wasn't too excited about that; she questioned the mistress's wish to spread flowers when there were already enough freshly grown ones blooming in the bushes.

"Oh, Miss Jones, just do as you are told," Mrs. Jarvis tutted and left the girls to their job. Out of all the adults on the staff, she was the only one who had no patience for Jessica and didn't even try to hide it.

"Well. I'm just sayin'." Jessica barbed under her breath amid the snickering of Wanda, Natasha, Daisy, Jemma and Bobbi. "It kinda doesn't make sense."

"Your mouth is gonna get you fired one day," Bobbi warned her with a frisky smirk.

"Why don't you beat it, _Mrs. Hunter_." Jessica fired back, slowly emphasizing Bobbi's married name. One she notably was displeased being addressed as, despite the fact she was indeed married to Lance Hunter.

Instead of answering a comeback Wanda was sure Bobbi could produce, Bobbi grabbed a vase and headed upstairs with no retort, her head held up high. And if Wanda hadn't been mistaken, with a little smile on her lips.

Jessica had Fitz and Hunter bring the boxes of flowers to the gardens. From there the maids scattered the vases around the gardens. As she planted them where the mistress wanted them, Wanda thought that Jessica had had a point. It really wasn't sensible to add more flowers to the gardens - they were already colorful enough. Adding more just drowned the place rather than invigorate it. And she doubted that her son would even care about the flowers, let alone where they went.

Once Wanda was finished with her four batches, she took a minute to admire the flowers. There were all sorts of colors: yellow, red, orange, white, blue, purple. It was a shame she didn't know the names. The only ones she did know were simple ones like roses and daisies and tulips, but these certain flowers were not those. She inhaled them, rubbing her nose petals and relaxing at their smooth touch. When the back of her knees started hurting, Wanda got up. She wiped her hands of any dirt on her apron and begun the walk back to the Manor, catching the other vases that she and the maids had placed.

She stepped onto the cobblestone path that would lead her downstairs to the servants' quarters. She distinctly heard the sound of water splashing and a low humming, but she paid no attention to it. Instead, her mind started checking off the duties that she had done for the day and what still needed to get done before supper.

"Wanda!"

Her head instinctively whipped to the sound of her name being shouted. Her eyes searched throughout the gardens, trying to find the person who had called her. It was a voice she recognized, and it made her stomach flutter with more than butterflies. It only took a second or two for her to find him.

He was standing outside the garages, his yellow "Gold Bug" speedster parked in the pavement. He was holding a garden hose in one hand, a large wet sponge in the other and – _dear God almighty_ , he was shirtless. Wanda's mouth parted and she gasped; she was amazed she had breath to release, given the fact she felt like the wind had been knocked out of her.

Wanda had seen chiseled chests before in the flickers. But my goodness, was there a difference of seeing it on the big screen and in person. For Bucky had the best-looking chest she had ever laid eyes on. No undershirt, no suspenders – nothing covered his chest. Tanned skin, peppered with moles here and there, a quartet of abs and muscles on his arms, he was an absolute vision. And to make it even better, the upper part of him was doused. Whether from the water or from sweat, Wanda didn't care. He was shiny, and she hadn't thought someone would look so beautiful as he did in that moment.

When he waved at her to come, Wanda's feet were awakened. Before she knew it, she was walking towards him, eager to be near him. It was opposite of what her mind was doing, screaming at her to turn around. It wouldn't be decent to be seen with him, especially if he was half-naked. But the pounding of her heart in her ears kept rising, submerging any voice of reason remaining.

The hose turned off, he let it hang on the hood of his automobile. Placing the sponge next to it, he looked at her. Wanda's heart skipped at seeing those crystalline blue eyes. 

"Good afternoon M–Bucky," Wanda shyly greeted him, stopping just short of addressing him as _Master_ Bucky.

"Hey there Wanda," he smiled warmly at her, causing her insides to melt. "Why are putting up flowers?"

"Your mother ordered them for the party."

Bucky shook his head, scoffing with the smile still there. "Of course."

Wanda chuckled softly, choosing to keep her chin low. An unexpected silence hung over them, but Wanda didn't initiate talking. She kept quiet, waiting for him to say something, as he had beckoned her. That, and so she wouldn't be caught staring.

But it promptly grew awkward, and since she had duties expected to be fulfilled by day's end, she took a chance at lifting her eyes.

He was watching her.

Wanda held his gaze until she couldn't bare it any longer. Blinking once, her eyes skimmed the surroundings, wanting to find anything to talk about.

She cleared her dry throat. "If you wanted to have your car washed, you need only ask my brother." She stated.

Bucky seemed amused – which was the farthest thing from what Wanda was feeling – but he went along. "Yeah, I know. But I kinda like cleanin' my own things, you know?" he shrugged.

Wanda hummed, not sure what she should reply.

"I could use some help, however," He gestured towards his speedster. "If you're not too busy..."

Wanda's cheeks flushed red at his innuendo. Did he just ask her if she wanted to help him wash his automobile? Where everyone in the whole Manor could see them? "Um," she coughed. "That – that wouldn't be wise."

Bucky unhurriedly advanced towards her as his dark brows rose, the edge of his pretty mouth twitching to break out into a grin. "It wouldn't be wise?" he repeated.

"No," Wanda lamely shook her head once. His proximity was a dizzying experience for her. He shouldn't be standing so close to her. Especially with no clothing on his torso. Oh, why did he have to be so... lascivious? "No, you know it would not be. You should be careful with what you wish for."

"Is that a challenge?"

"Bucky... please," Wanda warned with a nervous laugh, her eyes shifting left and right in case they were being watched.  _Not here_ , she wanted to say.

"Please what?" breathed Bucky, his voice going down an octave. Wanda immediately looked up, finding his crystal blue eyes staring at her with an intense regard. One that made her harken back to the Black Panther, in the booth, alone.

"Wanda?"

The voice was just a lenient murmur, but it was unexpected. Wanda's neck frantically snapped to her left and was met with a pair of disbelieved brown eyes.

"Daisy!" Wanda squeaked, taking several fumbling steps away from Bucky, who stayed right where he was. "I–Is something the matter?"

Daisy's eyes flashed wildly between them. Wanda tried to remain as calm as possible, act like she hadn't just been caught in a potentially damning position with Bucky hovering over like they were about to – Oh goodness, they had almost been caught kissing!

And what was worse, Daisy knew. She _knew_. And she could out them.

Wanda's fears were prolonged as she saw Daisy's widened eyes narrow on them; she was already in deep thought, and Wanda could only imagine what was running through her head. Incredulity? Distrust? Hurt? Betrayal?

Then those calculating eyes didn't stop on her; they landed on Bucky with a chilliness that Wanda doesn't believe she had ever seen come from Daisy.

"Jarvis is asking for you," she said matter-of-factly. Then after a pause that appeared to have lasted forever, she focused on Wanda. The stiff demeanor remained. "Master Tony and his friend are about to sit for luncheon."

Wanda nodded dumbly. She half-expected Daisy to walk away then, but she stood her ground. She was going to leave with Wanda in tow.

Left with no option, Wanda glanced at Bucky. His blue eyes, always a place of comfort for her, were now unrecognizable to her. They were icy blue, firm and constricting towards Daisy. From the way his fists were clenched by his side and his jaw tightening at the corners, she could sense that Daisy's presence was unwelcome.

They mutely retreated. And once Daisy was out of earshot –

"I didn't know you had a shadow." Bucky commented.

Wanda turned her head over her shoulder and she nearly stilled. He was still trailing after Daisy with dark eyes. He didn't say it in a playful tone. Rather, his voice was uncharacteristically cold. And then like a veil, he returned to washing his car, whistling without so much of a speck of concern.

"We need to speak. Now." Wanda insisted harshly as she walked past Daisy. Enough of pleasantries; they had to relieve the tensions and Wanda had to make herself perfectly clear.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

The maids were swift in their stroll back into the Manor's servant quarters. Wanda more so than Daisy, who trailed Wanda as she followed her up the stairs to the private cots. They had to be isolated, to avoid any prying eyes, especially those of the tittle-tattle scullery maids and valets.

Upon entering her room, Wanda hurried Daisy and quickly locked the door. She turned to the awaiting Daisy, fixing a few astray tangles of hair behind her ears before placing her hands on her waist and steadily stared at Daisy.

"Okay Daisy. What is the problem?" Wanda demanded.

Unwavered, Daisy confronted her. "I'm not stupid Wanda, if that's what you think. I _know_ what's going on!"

Wanda's brows furrowed, her face feigning confusion, though she was aware it wouldn't work. "I don't unders–"

"You and Bucky Barnes!" Daisy cried, past caring if anyone passing by outside was to hear them. "It's obvious as the clear blue sky, Wanda. You fancy him! A-and... he seems to reciprocate," her voice cracked, causing her to clear her throat. "But it's... it's so reckless of you both. You continue whatever you're carrying with him, and you'll be dismissed."

Wanda hadn't even noticed that her arms were now hanging limp by her sides. The anger that had been brimming in her gut, it had dissipated. Seeing Daisy on the verge of tears, telling her of what she wasn't willing to publicly admit yet know very deep in her heart... She was at a crossroad.

"Nothing is happening between him and I, Daisy," she said slowly as she took two steps forward.

Daisy scoffed, rolling her eyes at what they both knew was a lie but something Wanda needed to say regardless. Taking a step back, Daisy crossed her arms over her chest and chewed on her lower lip, avoiding eye contact.

And suddenly, a lightbulb went off. How could it had gone over her head? The never-ending longing looks, the warnings... It couldn't mean anything else but.

"But it is not just that," Wanda started. "It is something else. Tell me, Daisy. Tell me what you really feel."

Daisy sniffled. "What'd you mean?" 

"Do not take me for a fool." Wanda warned but with the gentlest tone she could manage. "I know you care for me. More than friendly feelings. You are not saying this only because you are afraid I will lose my job."

Daisy raised her eyes then, widened in alarm. "What are you implying?"

"You know what I am implying."

Daisy huffed angrily, her lips frowning as she narrowed those brown eyes on Wanda. She took a step forward and pointed at herself as she exclaimed, "Don't turn this around on me!"

"I am not," Wanda responded calmly. "But if we are going to have this discussion, then we have to be honest. I am willing to be, if you are."

They stared at each other in silence. Wanda stood placidly, hands resting behind her on her lower back. Daisy, on the other hand, was fuming with wild eyes and reddened cheeks. She opened and closed her mouth a couple times, unable to form words, until she could. And when did, she went on unfiltered.

"Alright. Fine!" Daisy slammed her foot on the hardwood floor like an insolent child forced to reveal she had taken a cookie before dinner. "You're right! I... I care for you. A lot. A lot more than just friends. I – I have for a while and you know it, so this part isn't exactly a surprise. And I don't want you to lose your job. I don't, really. But I also don't want... I don't want anything to happen between you and... Master Bucky. Because I have been hoping that, maybe someday... we could resume what we had."

Wanda sighed to hide an internal wince. She felt awful for what she was about to say, to reject her once again. "Daisy... I care for you. I do. You were my first friend here. I will always be grateful to you for helping me. And since you are being honest, I will too." Wanda further closed the space between them, taking Daisy's trembling hands into hers. The shaking lessened, but it still shook intermittently.

"I did feel something for you. You are beautiful, Daisy, and you made me feel so special. You were my first kiss, after all. But now, I only see you as a friend," she said tentatively, but it did nothing to stop Daisy's face from falling. "A friend I do not want to lose. Especially now, when I admit that something _is_ happening between Master Bucky and me. I do not know what will happen moving ahead, but I know I will need someone to talk to. I do fancy him, and if you are a true and loyal friend, then you will stand by me and keep this a secret. Just like I have kept your sexual orientation a secret from your mother."

Daisy was quiet besides the occasional sniffling. Her once vibrant doe eyes were now a muddy brown as some tears escaped, rolling down her face. She had the look of heartbreak and Wanda wanted nothing more than to console her, but she refrained from doing so.

With a numb nod, Daisy slowly slipped her hands from Wanda's grasp and went into the hallway without making a sound – or looking back. The door shut softly behind her, Wanda let out a gasp she didn't know she had been holding in and collapsed onto her bed.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> poor daisy :( this wouldn't be a melodrama without a couple of love triangles. it's gonna be a crazy summer.
> 
> even though school is resuming I'll try to update at least twice a month. the bad thing about being meticulous is it makes me a slow writer. ugh. but as always, thanks for reading!!!


	14. It All Depends on You

_May 29, 1926_

For once, Tony didn't wake hours after the sun had.

On this day, a special day, he was up as the skyline was transitioning from night to dawn.

Rubbing his weary eyes, a lopsided smile broke out from his yawning mouth.

It was his birthday.

He was 20. Just a year away from inheriting Stark Industries.

Spread across his four-poster canopy king bed, he listened intently to the cacophony of birds and crickets chirping outside. It's something he found oddly comforting, hearing the birdsong. There was no reason for it; he just simply liked the noises as he'd wake.

His thoughts mulled over to the party that was being held in his honor that night. He thought of the massive guess list. He had been right when he told Bruce that his parents had really over done it.

Not only was Tony going to expect celebrities at the Manor, but important people from both Stark Pictures and Stark Industries. He didn't care for the motion picture fellows, however; it was the shareholders, executive committee, and board of directors from their industrial company that he needed to keep on impressing.

Over the past week or so, Tony had accompanied his father to headquarters. It was a routine he was treated to every year since he was just a kid. But as he got older, those visits became prolonged. When he had returned from the Marvel Academy during the summers, his father would make him spend almost the whole day at the facility, teaching him the various ways they were creating innovative products and weapons.

"The government's counting on us, Tony." His father always reminded him with a firm hand on his shoulder, as if to add more pressure on the message. "I'm not going to be around forever. You'll take my position. And when you do, it'll be up to you to help protect our country."

Now that Tony was an MIT postgraduate studying to earn his master's in electrical engineering and physics, it was more imperative than ever for him to be brought into line. He was officially a year from taking over Stark Industries, one of the largest conglomerates in the world. He was going to be put in charge of his father's name and legacy, already up there with groundbreaking business magnates such as Rockefeller, Vanderbilt, Carnegie, Morgan and Ford. 

As such, Tony felt a hefty obligation to show everyone that they were putting the big company in the right hands.

Even if he was unsure himself.

Tony wouldn't ever admit that aloud, though. Never, ever. His father had always advised him to mask his weaknesses. So he did, and it wasn't often difficult. He was naturally confident. Some people could mistake it for arrogance, but Tony didn't care. In a hardened world like the one he was about to enter and quite possibly never leave, it was crucial to be selfish. He constantly had to push himself, which would in return greatly benefit the company and its growth.

Tony knew what he had to become. He had been groomed for this position of leadership since he had been conceived.

And yet...

He couldn't ignore, no matter how much he tried, the little voice in the back of his mind. At first he hadn't even realized that such a thing was possible. His mind was occupied by numbers, equations, electronics and physics; there was no room for a subconscious voice.

But it was there. And it fed him seeds of doubts. Made him question himself when he knew damn well there was no reason to.

_What if you're not good enough?_

_Intelligent enough?_

_What if Dad has someone else beneath you?_

_Could that person undermine you?_

_What if Dad changes his mind?_

_What if he chooses... Bucky or Steve?_

It was stupid. Stupid to think of hypotheticals that dramatic. Tony was the eldest child, not to mention his parents' only biological child. He was going to be CEO of Stark Industries within a year and that was that. There was no logic in pausing to think of other plausible results, not when there was a clear one staring at him in the face for his entire life.

He was going to keep ignoring his subconscious and go with his instincts. It was the only way to achieve what he was destined to achieve.

His mind set, Tony threw off the satin covers and slid his feet into his slip-on loafers. Once he emerged from the bathroom fresh-faced and ready, he found his bed made, the curtains drawn, and Grant Ward standing at attention by the threshold of his walk-in closet.

Tony's eyes rolled back onto his bed. There laid his suit for the day. Single breasted coat, no vest, pastel blue dress shirt, a red tie, trousers with plain bottoms and lace up oxfords. If Tony hadn't known any better, he might've suspected Grant of being obsessed with him because of the pinpoint accuracy he had when choosing Tony's suits for the day.

Then again, that's exactly why Grant served as his valet. He did – somehow – know Tony's preferences and it made him perfect for the job. It was almost scary. 

"What're you still doing here, Grant? You know I don't need you to dress myself," Tony chided though there was no ill in his voice, just good-humored teasing.

Grant's lip curled into a tight-lipped smile. "No, you don't, Master Tony. You're perfectly capable of that arduous endeavor." Tony couldn't help but chuckle at the jab. "No, I just... I wanted to wish you a happy birthday. That's all."

Well if that didn't tug at his heartstrings. Grant was a man of few words, but when he spoke, Tony was endeared to hear him out. In a way, they both understood each other despite the class gap between them. Tony didn't know how something like that could exist, but it did, and he treasured these little moments like this, man to man, friend to friend. Even if he couldn't be completely honest.

"Thanks, Grant," Tony responded lowly with a smile, his back to his valet. "You may go."

Left alone once again to his constantly crazy and erratic thoughts as he got ready for breakfast, Tony mused over another section of his invited guests that were equally as important, if not more, than his father's business partners.

His friends. 

They weren't a lot – especially when compared to the hoard of friends his younger brothers had. Tony could count on one hand the people he could count on for anything and everything. Pepper, his beautiful and intelligent girlfriend. Rhodey, Bruce and Stephen, his partners-in-crime from their juvenile school days. They were his inner circle, whom he could be frank to and likewise expected them to lay all the cards out on the table in return.

Hmm. Honesty. That had always been an integral part of their friendship, but now that the conversation with Bruce at the court was coming into focus, Tony paused.

He was pretty sure – no, he _was_ sure that Pepper and Rhodey knew. He could see it in their eyes, no matter how much they tried to mask it. They knew about Bruce's sexual orientation, but if Tony was left to interpret their last conversation, it was that neither of them had approached Bruce about it.

Which really bothered Tony. Really, so very much bothered him! Why were they being quiet? Bruce was their friend too; they shouldn't let him hide himself behind a rock, something he was clearly doing whenever they hung around Stephen. Bruce wasn't much a talker in the first place and yet he could still turn into a hermit. Pepper and Rhodey would see this but not do anything to make Bruce more comfortable. Why? Often times it left Tony trying to get a rise out of Bruce, but it rarely ever worked. Tony wasn't the "people" person of the five of them, he wasn't the one to give emotional advice. And yet that was what Tony found himself constantly doing it with Bruce. And seeing how easily angry he had made Bruce at the court, it was safe to say he wasn't good at it.

Since Pepper and Rhodey knew, the outlier was of course the person at the center of Bruce's heart.

Stephen Strange.

After the Marvel Academy, while Tony, Pepper and Bruce had gone to MIT, Stephen went up north to study at UC San Francisco's medical school. As such, they rarely saw Stephen except for the summers. But when they did, he was still the same handsome, stubborn, cocky and ambitious son of a bitch. He was prone to kind and selfless moments, but unsurprisingly, they were few far and between. Something Tony could understand because he was exactly the same way. He and Stephen were so alike, more than either enjoyed, but it also allowed him to think like Stephen too.

And from what Tony gathered, Stephen - for all his touted genius - was totally unaware of the torch Bruce carried for him.

It was understandable, though. Obviously Stephen didn't see Bruce as anything other than a friend. And if Tony had heard correctly, he had a girl waiting for him back in Frisco by the name of Christine Palmer. So not only was Stephen not gay, but he was taken.

Talk about three strikes and you're out. In Bruce's case, it took only two strikes, and he hadn't even moved from first base.

Poor fella. But regardless, Tony wondered why he chose to remain in the closet. There were so many people who were coming out and living happy lives with their lovers, free of stigma and socially accepted by their peers. If only Bruce could fully open his eyes and realize what was right in front of him, the brute.

Ah, well. Tony'd have to deal with those issues later. It was his birthday after all. _His_ day. A day that belonged entirely to him and his indulgences.

After descending onto the family breakfast hall, Tony had been greeted joyously by his mother's kisses. A couple of tongue-in-cheek remarks by his brothers, and a simple nod and pat in the back by his father. Then came the "Happy Birthday" tunes with his mother carrying his favorite cake, chocolate with fudge frosting. He blew out the candles not wishing for a single thing; he already had everything he needed.

Oh, who was he going to kid? Of course he wished for something: Stark Industries. His inheritance couldn't come any quicker.

Once family time was over and his mother literally shoved everyone out of the house so she and the servants could finish organizing the decorations, Tony was more than willing to listen to her and get out of the way. He pecked her cheek, wished his family a good day, and happily hopped his way to the garages where his Lincoln Phaeton was waiting for him.

"Let's go get our girl," Tony commented to himself as he slipped on his sunglasses and rode out of the Manor with the top down, enjoying immensely the feel of wind combing through his hair.

As he took the short drive to her house, he thought of what they should do after their walk in the park. Tony knew he was going to be hungry again so they should probably have lunch at Cage's. Afterwards, maybe they could take a drive down to Santa Monica and play in the beach.

Pulling up under the porte-cochère of her house, Tony honked his horn twice. The Potts' butler, Giles, a towering old man with a protruding stomach and grey hair, emerged from the entrance. Upon seeing who it was, he didn't hide his displeasure.

"Miss Potts will be with you shortly, Mr. Stark." Giles announced gruffly.

Tony grinned – he loved how his mere appearance irked Giles. "Shortly better mean ten seconds! She knows what a busy today is. You do know what day it is, don't you, Giles?"

"It is Saturday, sir." The old man responded impassively. His dark expressionless eyes bore holes into Tony, but instead of scaring him away, it only pushed an excited Tony to bother him more.

Tony nodded, letting his sunglasses slide on the bridge of his nose as he looked up. "Yeeeees, you are right, Giles. It is Saturday... And it is also my birthday." He paused, assuming that Giles would greet him with a happy birthday. But when the old miserable man didn't say a word, Tony happily egged him on. "Aren't you going to wish me a happy birthday, Giles?"

Giles looked ready to burst into a tirade when his goddess made her presence known. Pepper skipped past Giles, whose eyes immediately softened once he saw her climb into the Lincoln.

"Oh Tony!" She cried, wrapping her arms around his neck to give him a flurry of kisses to both his cheeks. He reveled in the attention, and the flowery perfume she was wearing. "Happy, happy birthday, my handsome boyfriend!"

"Thank you darlin'," Tony replied kindly with a chaste kiss to her hand.

After releasing him, she settled into her seat. As she fixed her long bob under her beret, she spoke to her butler. "We won't be long, Giles, just a couple hours into town. I'll be back by six to get ready for Tony's party tonight!"

Tony didn't wait for an answer. As soon as he had let go of Pepper, he had placed his car on drive and he hit the gas before Pepper managed to finish her sentence. That'll show the old cantankerous man. He could just imagine how wide-eyed Giles was left, grumbling under his breath about how he labeled Tony as a ruffian. Ha, if only that was half of the truth!

The drive to the park was a silent one. Every now and then Tony's eyes fell on the beautiful girl beside him, who preferred to focus on the views and people they passed by. Though he loved how inhumanly gorgeous she looked with her makeup and flapper dresses, it was these laid-back times that he appreciated and cherished the most.

Her face bared of any cosmetic and her chest covered with a simple blouse and vest, the ends of her red hair naturally curling above her collarbone rather than being ironed straight, Pepper was just breathtaking. How did he get _so_ lucky?

Taking the keys off the ignition once he parked his automobile, Tony was about to exit when he was briefly off guard by Pepper's arm reaching for his wrist.

"Wait!" she exclaimed as she browsed through her little black beaded purse. "I got you something."

Tony raised a questioning but entertained brow. "I thought I told you I didn't want presents."

"And I told you that I didn't care if you wanted presents," she firmly stated. "I got you one and you're going to open it." Finding what she was looking for, Pepper placed a small cherry wood box on Tony's hands. "Now."

Sarcastically rolling his eyes, Tony held the box without much force and flipped it open. Staring back at him, pillowed neatly against white fabric with the lovely cursive golden-colored writing of _Cartier_ inside of the box, was a wrist watch. But not just any wrist watch. It was an 18k yellow golden leather wrist watch with a sapphire cabochon dial.

Tony had his fair share of watches. A couple of Rolex, Piaget, Breguet, Audemars Piguet, A. Lange & Söhne, and Vacheron Constantin – just to name a few brands he owned. But up until this very moment, he hadn’t had a Cartier watch. His father had two of them, but peculiarly, Tony hadn’t bothered to seek one for himself. After all, the British King Edward VII had called Cartier “the jeweler of kings and the king of jewelers.” Not to say that Tony was in any regard a king… but damn it, he imagined he would feel that way when his time to “rule” Stark Industries would come. And now, at the courtesy of his beloved, he had a brand-new luxury watch to parade himself with.

"It's from their Tank watches collection," she explained, nervously looking at the watch and trying to get a read on Tony's reaction. "Do you like it?"

Tony turned to face her with adoration written all over his face. "Thank you, Pepper. I... I absolutely love it. C'mere," He said, carefully dropping the watch on his lap to embrace her. He peppered her strong jaw and swan-like neck with kisses. "God, I... I don't know what I'd be without you."

"Stumbling through life aimlessly, no doubt." Pepper joked with a chuckle.

Tony smiled. "Yeah... yeah you're right. You know, today's made me realize something. I'm this _close_ to running Stark Industries and I cannot wait to inherit," he admitted proudly, but then suddenly that irksome doubt crept in. He tried to fight it, he didn't want to let Pepper in to this deep hole he was in, but lately he had found that he could not not be honest with her. "But at the same time, I can't run the company without you. You're my balance, my stable ground, Pepper." He said, gently holding her hands in his. "Without you, I wouldn't be nearly as confident as I am. I need you by my side, baby, 'cause I'm not letting you go anytime soon."

Pepper took a moment to fully digest his words. He hoped he hadn't scared her too much, because the words he had spilled were true. He couldn't overlook an entire company without her support – that had been obvious since the beginning. Not just because he wanted her, but he truly _needed_ her.

Smiling sincerely, Pepper cupped her delicate fingers around Tony's jaw. She leaned in, her lips moving against his as she said, "I hope not, because you're stuck with me, Tony Stark. I'm not going anywhere."

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Not long after Tony had dashed from his birthday breakfast family gathering, Steve and Bucky followed suit. 

Boarding Bucky's Gold Bug speedster, they sped off to the Barton mansion. Neither had expected to leave the Manor, but those plans unexpectedly changed after their mother had kindly kicked them out for the day and alas, they had nothing better to do.

Upon arrival, the brothers were led downstairs to the bowling alley. Like their own private one at the Manor, the Bartons' alley consisted of ten-pin bowling with four rock maple wooden lanes and a small bar situated against the window-less walls. Before they even reached their friends, Bucky and Steve could already hear their boisterous laughs and the sounds of pins falling from down the halls. Once they entered the room, they were met with a lively greeting from Clint, Sam, Peggy, Carol, Laura, and Val.

The first hour was spent with the eight friends split into two groups – gals versus fellas – and playing against each other. The fellas had gotten ahead, but then Peggy suddenly scored a turkey, knocking out three consecutive strikes, and the gals were back in the game. The rest of the way was filled with emotions, especially after the girls tied the scoreboard. After Peggy delivered a spare and put them ahead, it was up to Steve, the boys' anchor, to get them the win. Following Steve's first ball, three pins remained. They were huddled to the left, but Steve was confident he could hit them.

Standing in the runway, Steve took four steps forward, sweeping his right foot behind his left as his arm swung backwards and then forwards. A second before he let go, however, his thumb had unexpectedly slipped from the hole of the bowling ball. Combined with the weight of the 12-pound ball, he had lost complete control of it by the time it had been brought forward and it fell apathetically onto the lane... straight into the gutter. Resulting in a gutter ball, which completed a comeback win for the gals.

Dejected, Steve sat out the next round despite the guys' encouragement that they could defeat their very happy and contented opponents.

He went to the bar and, ignoring the alcoholic bottles (he'd had his fill of liquor at Tony's party), helped himself to a glass of limewater with iced cubes. He then went to recline comfortably on a lounge chair, finding Peggy sitting there for she had bowed out of the game too. Giving her a courteous nod, the two sat there in stillness, observing their friends as they quickly became immersed in competition.

Finally, Peggy turned towards the blonde-haired man beside her.

Tucking a dark curl behind her ear, she asked, "How you've been Steve?"

"Fine." He responded lightly, taking another sip of his limewater.

"Hmm," Peggy hummed, though it was clear she wasn't satisfied. She was looking for more. "Just fine? Nothing's excited happened?"

Steve shook his head, avoiding meeting her eye contact. "Nope."

"Not even maybe... a new girl in your life?"

Although Steve had immediately sniffed out her light-hearted teasing, he still couldn't stop his face from snapping to her direction. She raised an inquired brow at his rapid response, so he tried to avoid whatever she was trying to get out of him by nonchalantly brushing off her question. "No. No," he responded airily, hoping to God he looked docile enough. "Of course not."

But Peggy wasn't a fool. He had so easily fallen into her trap yet again, and she didn't bother to hide her quirky smile. "Defensive, are we?"

Steve's cheeks and ears heated. "No! No, no," he stuttered stupidly, making him shake his head. "I'm just saying that there isn't a – a new girl in my life, as you put it."

Peggy rolled her eyes and scoffed carelessly. "You're _blushing_ , Steve. Besides, you could never lie to me because I'll know if you are. Which you are." she added matter-of-factly.

Steve's nose scrunched up in annoyance. Setting down his limewater in the table between them, he leaned in and looked into those her deep brown eyes that could read him even with a physical mask on. "Well little miss know-it-all, if you think I'm lying to you, then you tell me who this mystery girl is." He said irritably. 

She opened her red-painted mouth and paused. Then with the click of her tongue, she softly affirmed, "Your redheaded maid."

In that moment, there was a chorus of eager screams coming from the girls. Neither Steve nor Peggy reacted to the sudden and invading noise around them. Steve didn't say anything, but it wasn't necessary. The muscle under his jaw tightened, a slight twitch of his left eye, and his Adam's apple bopping up and down was enough of an answer for Peggy.

She wouldn’t have ever expected something like that could happen – especially after hearing the scandal that Hank Pym's daughter had caused. But at the last Stark party, the way Steve instantly came to the redhead's rescue, the alarm written over his face… it was entirely something else to behold. And she wasn't sure how to respond properly without the possibility of hurting Steve's feelings.

But one thing was clear to her: his utter silence, the slouching of his shoulders and his eyes falling to his hands fidgeting on his lap, it was more serious than he let on.

Peggy scooted closer to him, tentatively placing a warm hand over his. "Look... I don't disapprove. Honestly." she insisted wholeheartedly. "But... a person's personal life shouldn't intervene with their work. She is already putting herself at risk. And as you know, this wouldn't even be dared back in London, though it happens often. All I'm trying to say is... You must tread carefully, Steve. Not for your sake, but hers too."

Squeezing her hand, she felt him lighten a bit at her words. He nodded once but didn't bring his head up.

"Unfortunately, I'm not the only one." He admitted in a murmur.

Peggy's brows furrowed in confusion. Sensing this, Steve lifted his head slightly to stick his chin out. Following his low eyes, Peggy found him looking at none other than his brother. Bucky, laughing joyfully as he bounced off an equally jubilant Sam and Clint.

She sighed in resignation. 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a little sprinkle of pepperony :)
> 
> over 100 kudos and 3000 hits!! thank you thank you thank you a million times to anyone who has read this and is entertained enough to keep doing so lol. there's so much more drama and romance on the horizon so keep sticking around ♡
> 
> and finally the first (overdue) winterwitch / romanogers kiss coming right up ;-)


	15. Gimme A Little Kiss, Will Ya, Huh?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy super bowl sunday everybody. i don't remember the last time i uploaded this quick lol. instead of studying for 2 exams... this is what i do. lol hope you enjoy :)

_May 29, 1926 – continued_

By the time the Manor had been polished stark clean in even the smallest of crevices and covered in extravagant decorations, not to mention the banquets of food and the jazz orchestra settled in the ballroom, the servants had less than half an hour to rest before the first part of guests were scheduled to arrive.

Because of the massive guest list, Jarvis dispatched not only all the maids (except for the scullery; they were held off to cleaning the floors that were surely going to covered in alcohol and the heaves they would induce) to upstairs, but the valets as well.

Most of them took their little breaks at the table in their dining hall. Some opted to retreat to the privacy of their cots. All relaxed under the relative quietness of downstairs, aside from the kitchen where Mrs. Palazzo's heavy Italian accent barked orders to her wide-eyed kitchen maids.

The orchestra started playing at 8, and that's precisely when the invitees started arriving at the Manor.

Of course, the friends of the Stark boys were that first round of people to get there. Not together, though; each came along with their parents. And gauging from the reactions of the elder group, not all seemed like they approved of what their children were wearing or the jazzy environment of the party.

When it came to serving them a glass of champagne, none of them pretended not to know the maids. Whether it was Wanda or Natasha or Jemma, each of the Starks' friends greeted them with an appreciative nod. They didn't address them by their names, but it was more than enough for the maids. The simple fact that they had been acknowledged brought an onslaught of warm feelings, making them briefly break their servant's blank stare for a smile in return for their recognition.

Other familiar faces appeared soon thereafter. In particular, the Cages. As Natasha had mentioned, they had indeed brought barrels of illegal liquor and beer, much to Tony's elated surprise. Mr. Stark sent Lance and Grant to drop off the tubs in the basement, but they did so through the sweeping halls of the Manor, right in front of the guests. The displeasure was evident in some of the faces of the adults' faces; it wasn't secret that a couple of Mr. Stark's contemporaries looked down upon his friendship with a crime family. And yet, no one complained of the Cages' presence.

As more and more people invaded the Manor in what felt like it happened in a matter of minutes, the staff worked in earnest, each of them absorbed in doing their job despite the high volume of guests. Jarvis held the fort at the entrance, the two footmen taking their coats if they chose to take it off, Bobbi in charge of putting the coats in their respective coat rooms, and Wanda, Pietro, Natasha, Daisy, Jemma, Jessica, Leo, Lance, and Grant spread around the entire first floor to cater the guests. Refill the buffet tables, hand out silverware, give out directions if asked, and most importantly, always make sure there was enough alcohol, liquor and wine for everyone. This meant repeated, arduous trips to the basement, but as the night went on, they actually liked going down there because it gave them a chance to step away from the crazy crowded upstairs.

Remembering his previous talk with Peggy, Steve kept his distance from Natasha. He still kept a watchful eye on her in case someone behaved rudely, but he also made sure that they never crossed paths. He didn't want to be a distraction.

Bucky, on the other hand, was as mischievous as ever. Whenever the opportunity presented itself, he jumped at it to be near Wanda. He didn't pick out of any tray except hers. Even if his glass was full, he'd dump it on another tray and go to Wanda. He didn't even bother to hide his stares, eyes always following after her figure.

At one point, while walking past her with Sam and Carol to step outside, his hand came to rest on her lower back for a split second. The little touch surprised Wanda, leaving her standing dumbfounded as Bucky threw a crafty smile over his shoulder. Both Steve and Daisy had caught the moment; while Steve shook his head in disappointment, Daisy felt as if she was going to explode from jealousy.

By the time the clock stroke 11, the Manor's driveway was filled with automobiles. There were so many that late-arriving guests had to park out in the street, but luckily, they didn't have to deal with protests from the neighbors, for they were all there at the party. Lights flashing bright colors onto the ballroom, the grounds smothered in alcohol and feathers, the sweeping corridors and verandas filled with laughter of the wealthy, smoke permeating the air, it all resembled that of a speakeasy. Except it wasn't under an establishment; it was right there in the middle of Los Angeles, up in the mountains and invitingly glowing for everyone to see.

Around this time, Mr. and Mrs. Stark start gathering as much people they can fit in the ballroom to sing "happy birthday." Girls are perched up on the shoulders of men as well as standing on top of tables, one hand holding a glass and the other on their dancing hip. Leo and the two footmen, Cunningham and Murray, wheel out a delicious three-tiered chocolate cake on a cart. Twenty red and yellow lighted candles circle around the top, covered in white frosting. Aided by the orchestra, the guests belt out their best rendition of "happy birthday" and "For He's a Jolly Good Fellow," the singing thundering by the ballroom's acoustics.

Perched up on the stage to blow out the candles, Tony barely took in the moment for in the next, his face had been squashed in the cake by Bucky and Rhodey. The crowd cried, the people around them eager to get away from them as an astonished Tony gaped at his brother and friend. Before he could attempt to get revenge, Pepper got in the middle and quickly tried removing the cake from his face with an assortment of napkins.

In the meantime, the guests dispersed, the orchestra went right back to playing, girls started shaking their legs and waists, and the Manor descended into a moonlit chaos.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Carrying a silver tray of empty glasses leveled by her throbbing wrist that's been in this position for five hours, Wanda trudged to her way from the exuberant ballroom to downstairs. Passing a grandfather clock, she saw it was five till 1 a.m.

 _One more hour_ , Wanda thought yearningly, _and then sleep. Almost seven hours of sleep._

She dragged her aching feet across the smooth floor, her face held not too high off her chest as she felt her chin lull underneath her. She was exhausted from working _all_ day. Ears ringing from the perpetual buzzing of trumpets and saxophones. Eyes getting closer to just closing shut with every blink. It was getting even more tiring of swallowing her yawns. It wasn’t proper to yawn on the job, especially with so many people present, but with her body screaming for rest, she didn't know if she'd make it to 2 a.m.

Passing by a dozen of young guests lingering in the hallways, guffawing loudly, Wanda felt an urge go through her. She wanted them gone. The girls whose gowns shook with their cackling and the boys laying on the floor, some passed out and others too drunk to stand up. Everyone just _gone_. The party had lasted long enough. It was time for them to go; or more importantly, time for Wanda to go to her awaiting warm bed and sleep and never wake up.

Nearing the entryway for the trail of stairs that would take her to the servants' quarters, Wanda lowered the tray to open the door with her other hand. Then she heard the whispered tone of someone behind her, calling her name. She slowed to a stop, rolling her eyes, half-expecting it to be an inebriated guest asking for another glass.

Except it wasn't who she had thought. Far from it.

"Bucky?" she startled. He looked disheveled; no tuxedo but his grey vest, tie hanging loose around his neck, hair no longer slicked to the side but a dark nest of soft waves and his eyes slightly droopy. After a while, she had lost track of him. The Manor had been flooded with people and it had become too hard to constantly be around him. Now seeing him, clearly trying to show that he wasn't tipsy, it was highly amusing.

"Hey there Wanda," he smiled, almost shyly though she thought it was the alcohol that was making him that way. "Is, uhm, is it true that the, uh, the staff retires after 2?"

At Wanda's nod, his smile spread. "Oh. Okay. That's jake. Well, uhm," he stuttered as he approached her. Wanda felt her feet instinctively step back. "Can you, uhm, can you come by my room any time before then?"

The hand holding the tray wobbled, her breath hitching in her throat. "Your room?" she squeaked.

Looking up at him, she hadn't even realized that her back was flat against the door. His left arm was stretched above her, the other deep in his trousers' pocket as he gazed down on her with glazed blue eyes. He was close enough that she could smell the distinct scent of alcohol coming from his mouth.

"Yeah," he said, his voice down an octave. His eyes were a shade darker. "Just for a minute. I’m goin' up there now, I'm too tired to keep stayin' up."

Wanda hummed in consent; he certainly wasn't alone in that statement.

"So… will you?" he asked.

Despite her body within reach of collapsing from fatigue, despite knowing that she had no business going beyond the first floor where she could be caught by a guest – or worse, his parents – she wordlessly assented.

The journey to the kitchen and back up to his bedroom in the second floor without being intercepted, her mind was wrecked with conflict.

She knew what he had asked was inappropriate, and he knew it too. But if his behavior from the night was anything to go by, it was that he didn't care. He hadn't cared when she had seen him come out the shower on his first day back home, or when he sneaked her, Pietro, and Natasha out of the Manor like a thief in the night, or when he invited her out to lunch at Cage's restaurant. Hell, he didn't even bat an eye when she had seen him wash his automobile shirtless. Bucky held no reservations around her. And as a young unmarried lady, no matter the gap in their social class, his loose conduct should've appalled her.

But it didn't, God, it only made him more desirable. Wanda had never felt so much intense tension with someone. It scared her because it brought on uncertainty, she couldn't predict how he or she would respond to these strong feelings.

Then there was an excitement, a thrill running around in her gut. The attention he paid her... no man had ever treated her like that. Anytime she was in his presence, she could literally feel the hook of his eyes piercing through her skin. At first she thought she had been a bit paranoid (why would he bother to look at a simple foreign maid), but she'd catch him. In the beginning he'd immediately turn away, but lately, he did no such thing.

Bucky would _stare_ at her, and she couldn't help but think that he liked it when she caught him staring. It always sent a rush of adrenaline to her head, finding those blue orbs trained on her right in front of his family. Whatever was building between them, he hadn't shown her a reason to tame it. Instead, Bucky seemed to actively pursue it. And that prospect... It shook Wanda to her very core.

Which is exactly what she was feeling, standing outside his door. Looking around the empty and dark hallway, she took a moment to fix herself.

After discarding the tray, she had taken off to her cot. She tried fixing her appearance, splashing cold water on her face to wash away any remnants of sleep. She then coated her dry lips in a new strawberry lip balm her mother had just given her. She didn't know why she did this, or maybe she did and she was too afraid to admit it to herself. Either way, it was necessitated since the rest of face looked utterly plainly pale. She really didn't like the dark circles under her eyes, and for a moment, she had wished for some of Laura's foundation and rouge. But not one to dwell on things she couldn't have, Wanda huffed, fixing her ugly white cap and the rest of her uniform.

Knuckles ready to knock, Wanda was then reminded of the possibility of finding Bucky in a stupor. He hadn't been as nearly as drunk as Tony, Mr. Stark and their friends, but still. He was tipsy, and it was enough to ring alarm bells. Should she turn back? Besides, what was so important that he wanted to speak to her now, while his brother's party was ongoing? Surely, it could wait for him to be sober and not have more than 100 wasted people in the floor under them.

At the sound of distant voices down the corridor, however, Wanda swallowed common sense and knocked. Bucky let her in, and she was relieved to discover that the walls of his room muffled nearly the orchestra and the laughing, drunk guests. She eagerly welcomed the quietness.

"I was wondering if you were gonna come," Bucky said after a minute. Traces of a slight slur was gone.

Standing a few feet from him, Wanda looked over her shoulder. He had taken off a few more layers; gone was his grey vest, leaving him in only a white collared shirt with the first four buttons unbuttoned. The small patch of chest peeking through left little to the imagination, reminding her when it had been glistening wet in the driveway.

"Why did you want me to come?" Wanda asked.

Bucky didn't immediately answer. Holding her gaze, he walked up to her. A smile tugging on his lips, he stopped in front of her, leaving a considerable space between them.

"Unless there's an emergency, you'll never step foot in here. Only Jess and Bobbi can. But during parties... well, I can manage to sneak you in."

Wanda's throat tightened. "Why?" she repeated.

Bucky's eyes narrowed, but they were a contrast to the rest of his softened features. "Isn't it obvious, Wanda?" he whispered, walking past her to the bathroom.

"You're all I think about. From the time I wake up to when I go to sleep, your face is what I see," he continued from the bathroom. The light was off so Wanda couldn't see what he was doing. "You're all I think about, Wanda." He repeated when he emerged, his gold cuff links off as he wrapped up the cuffs of his shirt past his wrists.

Wanda couldn't believe her ears. She couldn't focus on anything. Her heart was ready to expel itself from her ribcage.

Eyes glazed over and trained solely on her, Bucky slowly approached her. He made no noise with his footfalls, the only source of sound coming from downstairs.

As he neared, Wanda's eyes fell. She instinctively retreated until her back came at rest against the door. She kept her chin low, eyes on the carpet, averting his own. The intensity in which he regarded her, it was too much. Too overwhelming. No one had looked at her like that, with so much... want and desire. She didn't know how to handle it. The only thing she could do in that moment was to grip the glass door knob with all her might in one small hand. But she wasn't going to leave; nothing could uproot her from that room.

His long fingers tickled the skin under her chin, lifting it up so their eyes could meet. Tilting her neck extensively to peer at him, an inaudible gasp escaped her.

His pupils dilated, almost hiding the glassy blue of his eyes. His warm breath laced with a faint smell of alcohol hit the bridge of her nose. His fingers crawled from her chin to behind her ear, while his other free hand sought her own, which had been placed flat on the door. Slowly intertwining them, he delivered her a ghostly smile.

"May I kiss you?" Bucky asked huskily.

His fingers curled around her ear, the pad of his thumb rubbing comfortingly on her earlobe. Wanda's eyes flickered shut for a second, enjoying the caresses his hands were bestowing on her. She hadn't ever felt so good from this simple intimate touch, a soothing caress that left her seeking more stimulations.

With one nod, his lips descended onto hers. 

It had been a couple of months since she had last kissed someone, but even then it had been just a few stolen ones with Daisy. Wanda still didn't necessarily know how to kiss. So she did what she hoped was what he wanted.

She opened her mouth, and he excitedly dove right in. His tongue entered, clashing unceremoniously with hers. She was about to pull back, afraid that he'd find her unsatisfying, but then his fingers left her ear and wrapped itself around the back of her neck. He pushed her more to him, causing Wanda to rise fully on her toes as she tried to give him everything he seeked.

He eventually slowed down, giving them both a chance to breathe. She shuddered as his pants entered her mouth. When he nipped her bottom lip, Wanda moaned lowly. She felt him smile against her parted mouth, and then he lightly kissed her again.

Bucky looked at her with some amusement. "What this your first time?"

Blushing madly, Wanda shook her head. "No. But it has been some time."

"Allow me to re-teach you then." He chuckled, wrapping his strong arms around her little waist. He raised her flush against him, using the door to keep her there trapped in his embrace. Lifted off the ground, she planted her feet on top of his. Cupping his neck, Wanda didn't have to resort to her tippy toes to kiss him. He met her halfway, and Wanda instantly melted into him.

She didn't know how long they were in that position, making out. Time went by slow when she was with him, and she loved it. The smooth texture of his mouth, the wispy feel of his hair, the bulging muscle threatening to break his shirt, and the unmistakable hardness pinned to her abdomen; it was so perfect. She hadn't ever felt so free, so alive. No matter how tight he held her to the point that it felt like suffocation, it had the opposite effect on her. She wasn't stuck, she wasn't choking – she was _flying_ , breathing in God's own endless air.

When they ultimately had to pull apart, both were left panting. Eyes still closed, Bucky's forehead leaned on hers, the tips of their noses gently touching.

Wanda broke the silence first. "I must go."

Bucky's arms restricted for a moment before he sighed and nodded. "I know."

Finally opening her eyes, she found his gaze fixed intently on her. Craning her neck to fully see him, she took delight in the man clutching her. The top of his head an unruly mass of dark waves, his lips abused from her constant sucking, and his cheeks reddened. Having never seen anything more beautiful, she took a mental picture.

Caressing his cheek, she nearly cried from the look of fondness he treated her. His eyes momentarily closing as her thumb outlined his bottom lip, Wanda reveled in the pleasure she was capable of eliciting by just touching his face. It was indescribable.

"Bucky," she whispered, loving the roll of his name on her tongue.

He instantly dipped down and caught her mouth in a passionate lip lock. This one was short, more like a good night kiss. Without breaking away from him, Wanda gripped the knob and opened the door. They stared at each other before she departed, an unspoken declaration running through their veins.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> romanogers & ironwing in the next one i promise ♡♡


	16. Climbing Up the Ladder of Love

_June 2, 1926_

After sweeping the entire main entry hall, Natasha leaned on a banister. She huffed, her arms and lower back aching. She checked a grandfather clock at the end of the hall. It was an hour until the Starks would have lunch.

Sighing, she grabbed the broom and wiped sweat off her forehead as she walked to the dining room that the family was going to use.

She found the table bare, which irritated her. This meant that she'd have to run to the pantry and gather the silver, after she was done sweeping and dusting the floors.

So many things to do; so little time to do them.

Smacking her teeth in annoyance, she grabbed the broom and started sweeping the floorboards as quickly as her tired fingers and wrists could manage.

Natasha did this in relative silence for about ten minutes. She was halfway through the room, already wondering who she could steal to aid her in arranging the table. Daisy should be done by now... 

There was a scuffle of feet by the door. It took Natasha out of her musings; looking up, the broom nearly slipped from her grasp.

It was Steve.

It had been some time since they'd spoken. They had cross paths almost every day, but their last face-to-face conversation had been more than a week ago.

Natasha didn't like to make assumptions, but it almost seemed like he was avoiding her. And it bothered her. She couldn't understand why he would act like that towards her. He had made his feelings for her _quite_ clear, more than once.

They had shared a dance in front of the entire speakeasy. He had told her that he was drawn to her. He had told her that he wouldn't let any man harm her. Barely a day had passed before he admitted that he missed having her in his arms.

And then, just as quickly as he had entered her life, he was suddenly out. When she chanced to glance at him, she found him looking at anything but her. She would often stare at him, hoping that he could feel her eyes on him. But he never took the bait.

Natasha understood if he was trying to create separation between them. After all, they weren't allowed to court. But this indifference… although she had tried with all her might to not feel anything about it… she did. She felt hurt by this cold shoulder he was giving her. She didn't like being ignored, especially not by him. If he had planned on being this way, the least he could've done was inform her. Then she wouldn't feel so disregarded – not that she didn't already feel like that in this position.

Steve crossed the threshold, uncertainty written across his body language. "There you are," he said, running a nervous hand through his tousled blonde hair. "I was looking for you."

Natasha's brow rose; he was looking for her? "You were?"

"Yeah," he nodded with a shy smile. "I, uhm, want to speak with you. Privately," he added.

Her eyes automatically scanned the room, gesturing to the room with her hand holding the broom. "I don't… I have work to do."

"It'll be quick," he promised.

Against her better judgment, Natasha yielded. There wasn't much time to deliberate; this was the first time he had spoken to her in days and she wasn't going to let the opportunity slide away. Leaving the broom beside a chair, she followed Steve into a study down the hall.

As she casually inspected the study, realizing it hadn't been cleaned yet, her attention was brought back to Steve when she heard the door click behind them.

They made eye contact, and though the air around them was closing in on them with awkwardness, neither backed down.

Steve lightly cleared his throat as he stepped closed to her. Natasha remained still, her hands crossed behind her back as she looked up at him. Her nerves were flying everywhere by how close he was standing to her, but she prayed that her face showed no sign of it. A servant's blank never failed.

"I just wanted to apologize."

And there went her stoicism. Natasha blinked in surprise, but before she could ask why he was offering an apology, he continued.

"For my behavior the last couple of days," he clarified. "I don't want you to think that I was evading you. Because I wasn't. I was just…" he paused, his eyes searching for something in hers that he evidently didn't find and in turn, he looked down. Compassion, perhaps? "Well, there's no excuse."

Natasha wanted to scoff, but she held her tongue. Of course there was an excuse. The only one she could come up with was his parents. That he didn't want to raise suspicions. Which, again, she understood wholeheartedly.

"I don't deserve an explanation," she said quietly, hoping it would bring him some comfort. Though it bothered her immensely that he had avoided her, he still had a viable reason for it, and she couldn't find it in her heart to blame him.

Steve's head snapped up, his dark brows furrowing. "Yes, you do. You do because… because I care about you, Natasha." He took a step closer, and then another. "Oh, you don't know how much… how much I care for you."

His right hand lifted as he spoke, his palm hovering merely centimeters from her cheek. He was looking at her longingly, and she briefly hoped there was a chaise or a sofa behind her because she felt like she was going to faint.

"I ache to touch you," he breathed hoarsely, sounding like he was in agony.

Unable to bear the tension any longer, Natasha cupped his hand with her own, pushing it to touch her skin. Her eyelashes fluttered at how warm his hand was. Finding her voice, she finally made her feelings known. "Then do it, Steve. Touch me."

He stared at her for just a second, but what felt like an eternity, before he did as she bid. He curved his hand to the back of her neck, pulling her to him as she raised her feet to eagerly meet his lips. She dissolved into the kiss, planting her hands on his broad shoulders to further pick herself up. Sensing her wish to be closer, his free arm wound around her waist, respectfully keeping his hand above her hipline.

When their lips parted momentarily to allow themselves to catch their breaths, Natasha almost laughed at how wide-eyed Steve considered her. He was panting more than her, his entire face flushed red and his large eyes making him look cartoonish.

"I love you," Steve declared, or rather blurted out.

Natasha couldn't hold it in this time. She chuckled, shaking her head at how utterly awestruck he looked. _So juvenile_ , she thought with endearment. "Oh, Steve, don’t be a Mrs. Grundy," she joked, scrunching his shirt with her fingers to pull his frame and kiss him again before he could retort.

She was the first to hear what sounded like a bucket rolling outside the study. From the corner of her eye, Natasha peeked it open just in time to see the door slowly open. Tugging the bucket inside with her foot, and a mop in one hand, Wanda kept her eyes down until she heard Natasha's soft clear throat.

Natasha broke from Steve as Wanda's eyes widened in shock.

"Oh!" She yelped, immediately lowering her head and struggling to walk back out. "Er, I'm sorry! I'm sorry... did not know anyone was in here."

Before closing the door to give them privacy, the maids' eyes met, and Natasha could swear Wanda had the slightest smile on her face. She smirked in response.

In her embrace, Steve started worrying, his feet taking him to fetch Wanda and explain. What exactly, Natasha could only imagine. "Uh, shouldn't we say something? I don't want her to get any ideas?"

Natasha shushed him with a caress to his cheek. "There's nothing we should do. It's not like she didn't know. You know your brother and she are... in the same position as us."

After a moment, Steve noticeably calmed and nodded. He intertwined their hands, resting his forehead on hers. She closed her eyes as he spoke. "You're right. I just want us to be careful. Next time, it might not be her to walk in on us, but my parents."

 

 

* * *

 

 

She knew what they were doing. It was stupid. No, idiotic. They were out of their minds. They were jeopardizing literally everything. Not just their lives, but the lives of their families. If they'd knew, the stalemate that had been placed would be flung out the window. They would settle it the only way they knew how: through violence. Neither side would listen to her or Danny. They'd just slaughter each other.

And she didn't want that, heavens knew she didn't. If there was any way to avoid a massacre that was likely to blow out between their families, she'd take it.

But who was she kidding? The only way a shootout wouldn't happen is if she and Danny stopped whatever they had going on. It was _that_ simple. They could stop the blood just waiting to be shed. It was up to them. All they needed to do was go their separate ways. Forget each other. Move on.

Move on from his hot touch, the sweet tingles he made her feel, the wide blue expanse of his eyes and the adoration it held for her every time he looked at her. How he would tell her he loved her every night they were together, whether it was when he greeted her or in the throes of a bursting orgasm.

No man looked at her, treated her, cared for her, _loved_ her, like Danny Rand. He worshipped her, and she in return worshipped him. Their love, it was unlike anything she had felt before. It was pure passion, want and lust.

She didn't think she could let it go. She _couldn't_ let it go. They were risking their lives, but damn it, she just couldn't give him up.

Raising her sleeved hand to wipe at her nose, she hugged her body. She shook her head; all she had to do was end it and everyone would be back to normal. Their families would still be at a standoff and no one would get hurt.

Suddenly, there was a pair of arms around her waist that didn't belong to her. She didn't have to turn around to know who it was, even in the dark alleyway behind a clothing store and a furniture store. 

"Colleen," he whispered her name, burying his face into her dark long hair that was tied into a lousy chiffon.

His warm breath tickled her neck, his grip tightening She around her body, and she sighed. _Oh damn it all to hell_ , she thought bitterly.

Colleen turned around and immediately sought his mouth, not bothering to hold back a moan when their lips met and his tongue played with hers.

"I want you," Danny groaned, his hips bucking into hers. She felt the unmistakable erection rubbing on her stomach through her dress. "I want you again, Colleen. Please."

He moved to her throat, and Colleen closed her eyes. Not only from how good it felt to have his teeth lightly bite at her collarbone, but how desperate he sounded. It was getting harder to ignore him when begged like this.

"I know, I know, I do too," she pecked his jawline covered in blonde scruff. "But we must be careful. Okay?" she asked, palming both sides of his face to force him to look at her. 

He sighed. "We will," he then leaned in and gave her a tender kiss on her nose. "Same time, same place?"

She should say no. He knew better than to want a repeat of what they had done the previous night. Both knew they shouldn't... and yet Colleen nodded and brought him down to her level, their mouths devouring each other as if there was no tomorrow.

In their case, it could very well turn out that way.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i've become that college student with 2 jobs ;(( last month i had no time to write, thank goodness spring break is here. gonna try to update as fast as i can 
> 
> slang used:  
> \- Mrs. Grundy: a prude or kill-joy


	17. Fidgety Feet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ohmygodohmygodohmygodohmygod school is finally over im crying happy tears i can finally breeeeeeathe again ;o sorry for the wait this had been sitting on my laptop unintentionally too long. 
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> and SPOILER ALERT
> 
>  
> 
> i still cant believe they did that to bucky & wanda. everyone says they cried when spiderman you know what but shiiiiiit by the time we got to him i was already an ugly af emotional mess over bucky & wanda (and that was *after* gamora & loki. that movie just ruined me)

_June 6, 1926_

It was a sunny Sunday morning, the air fresh with a cool salty dampness and light westerly wind carried by the nearby Pacific Ocean. 

Katia Maximoff leisurely walked on the sidewalk of Griffith Park, forgoing her usual black and grey bucket hat to wear sunglasses which offered better protection for her delicate eyes.

The twins each strolled beside her, an arm interlinked with hers. She knew they still felt some embarrassment, walking arm-in-arm with their mother in public, but she didn't care. Mrs. Maximoff cherished these little moments spent with just her children outside of the Manor. A chance to interact with each other without anyone listening in; a chance to actually be a _family_.

She gave their arms a gentle squeeze as she inquired, "How are you finding it at the Manor? Are you enjoying working there?"

"It is nice," Pietro replied. " _Very_ nice. There is no doubt that I won't ever live and work at a place like that house, no, that–that castle ever again."

"It _is_ extravagant," Wanda agreed. "There are still some rooms I have not gone in."

Mrs. Maximoff chuckled lightly. "Well, that is the Starks for you."

"I especially like their automobiles," Pietro added with a mischievous smirk.

"Of course you do," Wanda mumbled with a small smirk of her own.

"Just be careful, _moj sin_ (my son). God forbid, I don't want to hear that you have involved yourself in an accident. Much less with Mr. Stark or the mistress riding in the back." Mrs. Maximoff warned. She had always feared Pietro's adrenaline rush for the motor vehicles. Personally, she couldn't understand why Americans were so enamored with them. They were too fast and dangerous, unlike a horse-drawn carriage which didn't pose such a threat.

Pietro smacked his teeth. "Oh, mama, do not say such things. I never drive dangerously."

"That's not what I heard," Wanda muttered under her breath, pretending to be looking off into the distance as she nudged her mother.

He stopped momentarily, forcing the others to halt as he threw a questioned yet slightly amused gander at Wanda. "Oh, then what did you hear, _slatka sestra_ (sweet sister), hmm? Enlighten us."

Wanda rolled her eyes, but before she could respond, their mother scowled and tugged on their elbows to continue walking. "Stop it, you two," she chastised them. After a pause, she turned her attention to her daughter. "How about you, Wanda? I know our positions are mundane and repetitive, but is there anything in particular you enjoy doing…?"

Wanda shrugged a shoulder. "Not really, mama. Except the other maids. I like talking to them. I like hearing their stories."

Ms. Maximoff smiled inwardly. She wasn't supposed to allow conversations of impropriety among the maids as their second-in-command in effect, but they were also still young girls. Then there was the ever-changing society of movie stars, makeup, fashion, and fame that fueled the promiscuity of every adolescent. The scandalous stories might have shocked her in the beginning, but she had quickly gotten used to it – just like with everything else changing in the world at an unstopped pace.

"Yes, Miss Jones has displayed an aptitude for being very informed about the latest transgressions of this city's citizens." 

"I told her she should work as a detective. Maybe the Pinkertons are hiring," said Pietro.

Mrs. Maximoff shook her head. Now _that_ was a profession no lady of any socioeconomic class should pursue, no matter if she knew that Miss Jones could handle herself, which she certainly could. Tall and skinny she was, but she was also strengthened by her wicked wit.

"No, Pietro, that wouldn't be proper."

Pietro scoffed, his eyes in disbelief. "Proper? Mama, _nothing_ about Jessica is 'proper.' She alienates people without saying a single word. Just one glare from her and you are looking the other way. She's scary to men, so she will have no choice but to work and care for herself." Then with a half-smile, added, "Which, honestly, I do not think she minds."

"Miss Jones doesn't scare men away," Mrs. Maximoff chuckled at her son's absurd assessment. "She is just…" She trailed off, wondering _who_ was Miss Jones, anyways? She had immediately caught scent of Jones and the emotional distance she held with the rest of the staff, but it hadn’t dawned on her just how much she masqueraded her reservation with bluntness and dry sarcasm. "Independent. That is all."

Pietro wasn't convinced. "And intimidating. Cold, rude, distrusting, loves to mock people, should I go on?"

Wanda's mouth distorted into a scowl. "Do not criticize her. You don't know what she has gone through." 

"Well, maybe we would if she wasn't so distant –"

"It is her _business_ , Pietro, not yours –"

"I am only trying to help!"

"Like she would accept _your_ help!"

Mrs. Maximoff pulled at their elbows again, this time more harshly. " _Dovoljno_! (Enough)," she exasperated quietly at their bickering as they passed by other people. "Must you always argue when speaking to one another?"

"He started it with his nonsense –!" Wanda exclaimed.

"My nonsense –!" Pietro cried.

With a heavy sigh, Mrs. Maximoff released their arms, folding hers across her chest. She went on without them, tired of hearing their childish back-and-forth. She heard them continue, throwing angry words at each other before growing quiet. A couple seconds passed by until both sped up to their mother and offered a bashful apology for their public outburst.

Slightly put off but forgiving, Mrs. Maximoff accepted. They went on their way, but without joining arms.

As they passed a group of jolly adolescents, all paired up with their paramour and unashamed of openly showing their affection, a thought surfaced of a recent conversation with the mistress. It's one that had sincerely surprised her when the mistress brought it up. Since then, she had wanted to discuss it with her children as a precaution. Just to make sure.

"Have either of you become friendly with someone?" Mrs. Maximoff asked, trying to sound innocent. 

She had expected a brief waver before answering. But not the twins exchanging a quick glance, as if both knew someone about the other. Mrs. Maximoff tried to ignore it, but it left her puzzled at the sudden change in their behavior and she couldn’t stop her eyes from narrowing suspiciously.

"I do… sort of," Pietro finally admitted. He was blushing, which eased his mother.

"Oh?" It came out high-pitched, making her wince internally as she cleared her throat. "Does she work at the Manor?"

Pietro chuckled. "No. No, she doesn't."

"Well, do I at least know of her?"

"...Yes mama. You do."

The uncertainty came back, her body stiffening involuntarily. "What do you mean, Pietro?"

Her son presented her a smile, but it came off more a playful smirk, and it didn't sooth her at all.

"Nothing, mama." He leaned in to give her a chaste kiss on her cheek. No doubt to calm her, but again it failed to give her comfort. "I will introduce you to her in time."

Mrs. Maximoff nodded in response, but she settled that she'd have to keep an eye on her boy. He was a natural troublemaker, whether he created it or the trouble followed him.

When she turned to Wanda, her swelling worry alleviated tremendously at her answer.

"No, mama," Wanda's cheeks blushed red as she pushed a loose tangle of brown hair behind her ear. "W-where would I find the time for that?"

Mrs. Maximoff couldn't help the smile that took over her face. Out of the two, her little girl had been the introvert. She was so shy; generous but timid. She had raised Wanda to know that she could come talk to her mother about anything. Despite working long days at the Manor, she still had somewhat anticipated that Wanda would pull her aside and tell her she was seeing a boy. But alas, that day hadn't come. Ans after talking to the mistress, maybe it was good that it hadn't happened yet.

Her smile fell into a frown as she remembered the conversation. She needed to let them know. They needed to be forewarned... especially Wanda because she worked closely with the Russian.

"Well, I hope to meet this mystery girl soon," she told Pietro, her eyes holding his to emphasize what sounded more like a request than a simple wish. "I have spoken to Mrs. Stark, and she has informed me to... monitor Miss Romanoff."

"Why?" asked Wanda.

"It is likely nothing," she attempted to smile, to deduce the severity the problem carried. Then she realized she had quoted the mistress, and her chin dipped. "But Mrs. Stark has reason to suspect that Miss Romanoff has caught the attention of one of her sons."

Silence loomed around them.

"That's not good," Pietro finally said. "Did she say which son?"

"It doesn't matter," Mrs. Maximoff shrugged. "But you would tell me if you knew something, hmm?" she asked as she wounded her arms over their elbows, bringing them closer to her. "You both know that type of behavior isn't allowed."

"Yes, mama, of course we would." Pietro's lips smiled tightly as he palmed her knuckles. His whole demeanor seemed forced, and Wanda wouldn't even offer a reassurance, but Mrs. Maximoff didn't think too hard on it.

She trusted them, and they trusted her. If her children knew anything, they would tell her. Surely.

 

 

* * *

 

 

_June 10, 1926_

Bucky was good at distracting himself. He could always count on his imaginative mind to come up with something to keep him busy. But so far today, it just wasn't working. He had listened to the radio and worked out in their installed gym already. Not even F. Scott Fitzgerald could distract him; he had obviously read _This Side of Paradise_  too many times.

Most likely it had to do with no one being home. Steve was due to return from his school orientation in Oakland sometime in the evening, Tony had gone with Father to headquarters for the day, and Mother was spending lunchtime with Jeri Hogarth and Melinda May again.

Without them the Manor was an eerily quiet, lifeless place; even with the servants wandering around. Unfortunately, he hadn't accidentally run into Wanda, which meant she was busy as well.

He was also simply too lazy to phone all his friends and plan with them on what to do. So Bucky dressed, waved a hasty goodbye to Jarvis, and hopped on his Gold Bug. He decided to head to Cage's restaurant instead.

It was after 1 pm on a Thursday, so expectantly they weren't busy.

As he passed by the entrance of the restaurant, Bucky saw T'Challa and Luke Cage standing outside. He honked his horn at them, receiving a wave from the brothers.

After parking, Bucky found them waiting for him. They greeted each other and took him inside by a booth in the left corner of the place. Luke left momentarily into the kitchen, emerging with Danny Rand who was more than excited to see Bucky.

The four men sat there, each with a glass of water mixed with lime and a couple drops of liquor.

Bucky felt intimately relaxed for a change. He didn't know what it was about the Cage clan, but for all the intimidating and sometimes violent ambience they generated amongst the public, he didn't feel himself affected by it. He didn't feel threatened by them, not one bit.

He didn't know if it was because of the sudden lowered crime rates in Los Angeles. Since the Cage-Wing "impasse", Bucky hadn't heard of any implications or arrests. The streets weren't clear of bootlegging, but they apparently were when it concerned these two families.

Bucky liked that they weren't feuding. Both were involved in the same illegal businesses and he believed they should try to work together rather than against each other.

But Bucky had been around long enough to know it just didn't work like that, especially when it came to race. It wasn't in his best interest to put his two cents in, but it didn't stop him from thinking. Thinking how life would be better if they'd just get along.

After a brief lull in their conversation, with each men taking a sip and aimlessly looking at their surroundings, T'Challa broke through the silence.

"Listen, Bucky," he started, leaning towards the table. "My father has heard that your friends have been seen in a certain part of town."

Bucky raised a questioning brow. "Where's that?"

"Chikara." Luke replied.

Bucky's eyes briefly flickered to Danny before focusing on T'Challa and Luke. Bloodshed or not, these two families were still always competing. "Well, I'm not gonna lie to you. They do go there sometimes." He took a swig of his glass. "But I haven't. Neither has Steve. Tony is reckless but even he knows not to go near that area. Our friends go, but not with us."

T'Challa paused before answering, choosing his words carefully. "I'm not saying you are forbidden from going there. You can do as you please –"

"We wouldn't be welcomed there anyways," Bucky interrupted, shrugging. He could only imagine the look on the faces of the Wing henchmen, a look mixed with shock and disgust, if he stepped foot on their establishment. "Everyone knows how close ours fathers are. You can tell yours not to worry; a Stark will never be seen over there."

This seemed to calm both T'Challa and Luke, who both smiled tight-lipped at him and left it at that. They then excused themselves, leaving Bucky with Danny. 

"So, uh, how's it going with your gal?"

Bucky raised a brow as he lifted the glass to his mouth. "Shouldn't I be askin' you that?"

Danny shrugged, but there was still a red tinge forming on his cheeks. So he was still seeing that Colleen Wing. "I asked first."

Bucky smiled warmly as he swallowed the cold drink, the image of round green eyes taking over his mind. "It's goin' good. Yeah, she's wonderful. We're gettin' there. Slowly. Nothin' officially can happen, of course, but if it gets serious, then I'll have no choice but to tell my parents... I won't hide her. It wouldn't be fair to her."

Danny nodded, and after taking a sip of his water, asked in a lowered tone, "Aren't you afraid?"

Before he realized it, Bucky was nodding his head. "A bit, yeah. But..." He smiled. "She's all I think about and if she feels just as much as I do for her, then... it won't matter as long as we're together."

When he looked back up at Danny, he could see the longing in his wide, expressive blue eyes. Danny didn't have to explain himself – Bucky knew he was referring to the fear they _both_ felt. Bucky getting separated from Wanda; Danny not only getting separated from Colleen Wing but also possibly inciting a war between their families.

Danny cleared his throat. A blonde curl falling over his forehead, he raised his glass in a toast.

"To love." He said in a resigned non-celebratory voice.

Bucky stayed for a couple more minutes before he started to head out. On his way to the door he ran into Nakia, T'Challa's mother Ramonda, and Shuri, T'Challa's sister. They exchanged pleasantries before going their separate ways. As Bucky looked back, seeing the Cage women happily interact with Danny, he couldn't help but smile at the sight.

With the sun high up in the sky and temperatures quickly rising, Bucky realized he had yet to take a swim in the pools.

Upon arriving at the Manor, he spotted Fitz by the garage with Pietro conversing.

"Hey, Leo! I'm gonna go take a swim," Bucky called out as he turned off the engine. Pietro resumed his work on Tony's Lincoln, and an idea popped in his head. A lascivious idea if he was being honest, but then he remembered: his parents weren't home. "And I'd like Wanda to bring me refreshments."

He nearly laughed at Fitz's dumbfounded expression. He also didn't miss Pietro's momentary but instant pause on rubbing a haggard cloth on one of the Lincoln's headlights.

"W-Wanda, sir?"

Bucky threw him a mischievous smirk as he jogged up the trail to the Manor's entrance. "Yup. Some lemonade would be swell too."

Before reaching his bedroom, he had already decided on forgoing his swimsuit tank top. Initially he was a tad wary of his appearance – was he even fit enough to go topless? He definitely didn't want to disappoint Wanda. 

But once he reached his closet and put on only his black trunks, Bucky was satisfied by the reflection in the mirror. A pair of muscled arms and toned six-pack abs that were coming back after working out intermittently while at school. The only thing that bothered him was how pale he was. Thankfully, the sun was strong enough to give him a tan.

For appearance's sake, though, Bucky wore the tank top until he reached the outside pool. Shedding it off, he then jumped in. He stayed in it, basking in the serene coolness of the water as he swam to the other side without taking a breath.

He continued to take laps back and forth, losing count of how many by the time his head popped up from the water and found Wanda standing idly by, holding a tray of fresh lemonade.

"Hey there sweetheart," he grinned.

He squinted his eyes as he looked up at her, the sun shining behind her form. My, what a vision she was.

The tray shook slightly; Wanda lightly cleared her throat and looked down in embarrassment. "Fitz said you asked for me to bring you this."

"I did."

Wanda opened her mouth, but it clamped shut as Bucky swam to the rail and climbed out of the pool. He smirked as she kept her head bowed so deeply that her chin almost touched her sternum.

He stood there, water droplets dripping down his body as he took the lemonade glass and drank it silently. He never shied his eyes away from her; he wanted her to feel his eyes on her. He wanted her to know that only she could hold his attention. That he wasn't interested in anybody else but her.

Downing the drink in a few gulps, he softly placed it back on the tray.

"You know," she said, slowly raising her face. He could see some of her shyness shedding, one by one. "This is not really my job. It is more like Jarvis's. Or Mrs. Johnson's. Or even my mother."

"Yeah, I know." He acknowledged, giving her a half-smile. "But I'd much rather it'd be you."

They stared at each other for a moment. Then a sudden urging overwhelmed Bucky. He was usually good at controlling his impulses, but this one couldn't be ignored. Not when it was right there in front of him.

He lifted his wet hands, laying them on top of hers, which were still holding the tray. Her green eyes became bewildered as he leaned in.

"What are you doing? Someone could see us..." she cautioned as she tried to pull back but Bucky kept her rooted.

"Nobody's gonna see," Bucky said, his lips grazing her own as he spoke.

It was a short, sweet kiss, but it still made him feel like he was on fire. He put pressure on her hands again, making the tray tremble as he tried to go for another. Wanda's lips puckered, and he slightly rose on his toes to fully capture her inviting mouth. A moan slipped out of her in response to his palms crawling up to her wrists – and he had no option but to tear away from her right then. His control, whatever he had left, was barely uncontained, if the erection on his trunks wasn't any more evident of her effect on him.

"Ya know, it's kinda unfair that you've gotten to see me half-naked twice now and I'm still over here literally dreamin' about what your body looks like," he revealed as he rubbed his nose on her hat above her ear.

Wanda gasped, but she wasn't offended at his lewdness. "Have you no manners, Mr. Barnes?"

When he looked down at her, he saw a playful smile. He squeezed her hands.

"For you, Miss Maximoff, I've got that and so much more." He whispered into her ear, nipping her earlobe which elicited another squeak. And then he let her hands go and walked away without saying another word or looking back, feeling quite content with himself.

 

 

* * *

 

 

After another uneventful dinner, Steve retired to his bedroom. He was tired from the drive back home from Oakland, having spent the last three days there. He wanted nothing but to crawl into his bed and happily dream of a certain red-haired girl. But as he changed out of his suit into his pajamas, he noticed his sketchbook on his nightstand.

Despite spending the last few days at his art school for orientation, he hadn't gotten around to drawing at all. And though he was awfully weary, his back aching from sitting in the car for so long and his brain flattened from how active and involved he had been at his school, he still picked up his sketchbook and his graphite pencil.

Settling into his pillow positioned against the oak wood headboard of his four-poster bed, Steve crossed his feet at his ankles as he began sketching the only person he thought of while he was away.

He sat there for a couple minutes, enjoying the silence of the house as the summer evening further faded into night with crickets chirping outside his windows.

Until there were three knocks on his door, followed by "Hey Stevie! Can I come in?" and Tony subsequently walking in before Steve could utter a retort.

"Whacha doin'?" Tony asked, strolling in with his hands in his slacks' pockets.

Steve fumbled with his sketchbook, closing it as his brother pushed his legs back and took a seat next to him. Steve gave him a baffled look.

"N-nothing, Tony," he paused as he saw Tony smile at him, which was completely odd behavior. "Is there something you want to talk about?"

Tony gestured at his sketchbook tucked under his arms, hidden from view. "What were you drawing?"

"Nothing," Steve tried to reassure.

"Oh, why don't you chase yourself, Stevie?" Tony chuckled. "Lemme take a wiiiild guess at what you were drawing? I beg your pardon, _who_ you were drawing."

Steve rolled his eyes and huffed annoyingly. He extremely disliked Nosy Tony.

"What do you want, Tony?"

"I had a thought today," he started off dramatically.

"Well, that's not somethin' you hear every day." Steve muttered.

"Don't be a high hat," Tony scowled. "Anyways, I had a thought. Firstly, I know about you and Romanoff. And about our dear brother and Maximoff. The female one," he clarified. "And it made me realize how careful you're being, which I commend. Unlike our said dear brother. Oh, the mayhem that could've ensued had it been not me but our parents walking in on them by the pool."

Steve's eyes widened in shock. "What? Today? You saw them kiss?"

Tony shook his head. "No, not kiss. Just standing _reeeeeally_ close to each other. They may have kissed, who knows? It sure looked like it. But what I'm trying to say is that though you're not allowed to be with Romanoff, at least you two are hiding it. Instead of Bucky. Which reminds me, I should knock some sense into him. What's he thinkin', honestly?"

Steve shrugged, unable to give an answer. It was weird hearing how obvious Bucky was being with Wanda. Almost like he was asking to get caught. He didn't understand why he'd risk it.

But then again, similar to Tony, Bucky didn't respond well when kept in a corner. He had a rebellious streak to him, and he had little patience to following orders he didn't agree with.

If this was his little way of rebelling against their parents, then as much as Steve would like to agree with Tony, he couldn't. Not entirely.

"I envy you and Pepper," Steve revealed in a low voice, averting his brother's eyes. "Being able to be with her freely, without having people talk about you."

"Yeah, but–but it's only a matter of time before this ancient social class division goes away. We're progressing into a new age," Tony professed with enthusiasm that Steve wished to share. "And I don't think our parents would really be opposed to you and Romanoff. Not really. It's just… society, I guess. Problem is they care too much what their contemporaries would say. But I can talk to Dad about it, you know. Drop a hint or two."

"No, no, Tony, that's not necessary," Steve said, sighing as he looked down at his sketchbook. He thought about how useless it would be to convince their parents with him going to Oakland for university. "Besides, I doubt it'll last once I go away."

Tony lightly patted his knee before getting up. "Then, brother, I suggest you enjoy the time you have left with her."

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> slang used:
> 
> \- go chase yourself: get lost, scram  
> \- high hat: a snob


	18. I Know That You Know

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> more winterwitch goodies :D

_June 12, 1926_

Something was shaking his shoulders. Why were they shaking his shoulders? Couldn't they see that he was soundly sleeping?

"Ngggh," Bucky groaned under his pillow. "Ssssstop."

"C'mon, you dewdropper."

Steve? Of course it would be him shaking his entire body. Tony would never; he knew all too well the effects of a heavy hangover. You shouldn't shake an already queasy body. "Wake up, it's past 9. You missed breakfast. Father was rather miffed."

Bucky just buried his face further into the silky sheets. He could sense a small ray of light sneaking past his bent elbow, and he let out another disgruntled moan.

Of course Steve had opened the window curtains. Tony would never.

After a few more futile nudges, Steve sighed. "Goodness me. What did you even do last night?"

That was a good question. What _did_ he do?

All he remembered was going to Clint's house. That's it. He didn't remember what he did at the party, it was just too much of a blur. At least he made it home safely.

...How though?

Bucky gingerly lifted his head, his mouth and nose peeking out the pillow so he could breathe. He still shielded his sensitive eyes from the sunlight.

"M–my bug..." he croaked, though he could feel a panic begin to form in his gut about the state of his automobile.

He heard Steve scoff, and he imagined him rolling his eyes too. "At the Bartons. You were in no condition to drive Bucky. You were so fried, Clint had no choice but to take you home. Well, Laura did because Clint was just like you. He rode in the passenger seat."

Bucky's upper lip heaved slightly. Yes, that sounded exactly like Clint.

"Now are you coming or not?"

Bucky shook his head; he wasn't sure if Steve saw it but he didn't care. His mouth was already drooping, his mind falling back into unconsciousness.

Steve sighed again. "Well, I'll have a tray brought up for you. And don't forget to pick your automobile."

"Mmmm," Bucky moaned, waving a loose hand at him, leaving it hanging over the edge of his mattress.

He stayed in bed for what he believed was a couple more minutes, until his stomach started growling. And his bladder became heavy. It felt like hours had gone by, but when he finally lifted the pillow off him and checked the clock on his nightstand, it was almost 9:30.

Groaning in frustration, Bucky crawled across his four-poster bed – all the while covering his eyes with the palm of his hand – and trudged his way to the bathroom to relieve himself.

He had just finished washing his face and in the midst of combining his wild and fluffy hair when there was a knock on the door. His stomach growled in anticipation.

He had been expecting Natasha, though he had desperately hoped for his Wanda. But he got neither.

Instead, it was Daisy delivering him his breakfast. And she didn't seem content, like she had woken up on the wrong side of bed. Makes two of them.

"Morning," she clipped.

"Mornin'," Bucky replied with the same non-existent enthusiasm. "Just put it there, on the desk." He spoke as he walked into his closet, feeling an irritable wave sink deep into his gut.

It wasn't in his good nature to wake up annoyed for no reason. That grumpiness was a trait found in his father and Tony, not him. And yet, seeing Daisy of all people walk into his room with his food, it ticked him off. 

He tried telling himself he was being ridiculous and ungentlemanly. But another part of him was angry. Angry at the rumors he had recently heard. 

Bucky had long known of Daisy's sexual orientation. She didn't even have to tell him; for some odd reason he just _knew_. And he also knew that her mother, Mrs. Johnson, didn't. Or anybody in the household, for that matter. 

It hadn't mattered to him because he had nothing against people like that. Hell, his ex-girlfriend's first kiss wasn't with him but with a girl! So he had no issues, not whatsoever.

Until he heard the rumors. Apparently, Daisy and Wanda had had a dalliance. Jessica had spotted them kissing one day. And though they were no longer involved, it didn't stop Daisy from gazing on after her.

Bucky had kept an eye on their interaction. And what he gathered was troubling, to say the least. While Wanda's eyes wandered towards him, Daisy's eyes were centered on her. Just her. And that bothered Bucky _immensely_.

He itched to talk about it with Wanda, but he didn't want to seem like he was priding himself into her life. He wanted her to open up to him on her own terms because he wanted to win her trust, wanted her to feel like she could tell him anything – just as he felt he could do with her.

So he hadn't brought it up, but it didn't mean he wasn't thinking on it. Was it true about her and Daisy? Was it a fling, or something more serious?

Bucky wanted to own it on simple human curiosity, but he couldn't kid himself. He _needed_ to know what had happened between them. If they were to proceed with whatever they had going on, it was preferable to deal with just his parents than adding Daisy to the mix. That just further complicated things.

And yet, before his mind could process what he was doing, he was already at his desk before her. He grabbed a piece of paper from the stack he used to write his letters, and his fountain pen. With his back to Daisy, he quickly scribbled the first thing that popped up when thinking of Wanda: _I want to see you. I want you._

He folded it and turned around as Daisy sat the tray of his breakfast – French toast, corned beef hash, potatoes, and a fried egg that smelled delicious. He didn't know what he was doing exactly, but it was too late to reverse; he was already handing her the note.

"Give that to Wanda, Daisy," Bucky said nonchalantly. He took a sip of his coffee, and nearly sputtered seeing Daisy's reaction. She was never one to mask her emotions.

"I beg your pardon?"

Bucky repeated himself.

Daisy blinked once, twice, and then her nose scrunched up. She made no effort to take the note. "No, sir, I don't think I will."

Bucky tried his best to remain neutral. "Why not?"

Daisy scoffed and rolled her eyes. The nerve of this girl. "I think you know why. Whatever _game_ you're playing at, do yourself a favor and stop. I will not stand to have Wanda be dismissed over something so trivial."

_Trivial?_

Instead of getting angry, Bucky found himself amused. Like her, he didn't shy from hiding his real emotions.

"Listen, Daisy," he said as he crumpled up the note in his hand and stared deep into her dark brown eyes. "I know about your... preferences. And I don't have any objections towards you because of it. But if you knew what was good for you, you'd stay out of my personal life."

Bucky didn't like resorting to this type of behavior, especially with women. He was a courteous gentleman always, and apparently even when making threats. Not that threatening was polite. It wasn't, and he wasn't interested in delivering them, but he felt needed to. To make himself clear, just once.

Besides, the whole point was to scare Daisy away. He wouldn't actually hurt her. 

He knew that Daisy knew this as she stood her ground, though not as fierce as she had been a minute ago.

"Will you excuse me?" she asked, clearly not waiting for a response. 

Bucky didn't give her a reason to stay back. He just stood there, eating a piece of buttered toast.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Wanda was on the first floor, not far from Howard Stark's study. She was aimlessly waving a feather duster on a blue-and-white Chinese antique vase that Melinda May had gifted the Starks after her trip to the new Republic of China two years ago. The whole hallway leading to Stark's study was decorated of vases imported from different countries, but most where from May who had brought back an endless supply of vases from her home country.

She was humming to herself, leaning more on one side of her body with a hand balled up on her waist.

Per chance, Wanda looked down the hallway. At that same exact time, somebody strolled by. The person glanced in her direction, turned their head back to the front, and then snapped right back at her. His feet slid under the abrupt turnaround, but he found his footing and started jogging towards her.

Wanda covered her mouth, eyes wide as she tried to stifle her giggle. He was such an unpredictable man.

Bucky went for the door that was nearest to her and snatched the wrist that had been covering her mouth. Wanda squealed as she was pulled into the empty room, her back pressed against the door. She looked up at him in surprise as his hand cupped her jaw, the other gripping at her waist.

" _Moj bože_ , what is this abo–?" Wanda gasped, then cut off by Bucky’s lips capturing hers.

On instinct she rose on her toes, her arms wrapping around his neck as she let out an unapologetic whimper at how hungrily he kissed her. He responded by grinding his body on hers, his thumb pulling down her chin to further open her mouth to his.

They kissed, tongues clashing clumsily, until Wanda couldn't take it anymore. She brought her hands to his chest and pushed him back, gasping for air. But he continued, leaving trail of kisses on her neck that made her close her eyes in gratification. His grasp on her waist tightened, and she was suddenly hit with a spell of dizziness. 

"D'you wanna sneak out tomorrow?" Bucky asked, finally lifting his head to face her.

Wanda ran her palm on his reddened cheek. "Tomorrow?"

He looked absolutely breathtaking, with his entire face flushed and his eyes the brightest blue she had ever seen. 

"Yeah," he said, pecking her nose. "We can also bring your brother and Natasha."

As inviting as it sounded, to openly spend time with him and not look behind their backs, Wanda wasn't sure if it was a good idea. 

"I want to, really I do..." she said, biting her bottom lip. "But what if we get caught?" 

Bucky smiled warmly. "I promise you we won't. You trust me, right?"

She nodded her head without hesitation. "I do."

"Then you got nothin' to worry about, doll."

He brought up the pad of his thumb to her bottom lip, slightly parting her mouth. While Wanda stared at him, his eyes were solely on her lips.

"Say that again."

Wanda blushed maddeningly. "I trust you, Bucky."

Bucky licked his lips and eagerly connected it with hers. This time, he didn't restraint his fervor.

His hands roamed uncontrollably over her body. He tried clutching onto anything he could hold; her jaw, neck, forearm, hips. Then he went for her legs.

Wanda gasped audibly as he broke away from the kiss to slither his arms under her uniform dress and wrap them around her thighs. He picked her up, her dress' hemline ruffled on her waist.

She immediately clung onto Bucky, her palms hugging his neck. He sought out her mouth once again, moaning at her little tugs on the ends of his hair. 

His large hands massaged the back of her thighs, and the feeling of his skin down touching her down there was indescribable. Without even realizing, she rubbed herself on him, and the electric tingle that spread around her groin left her craving for more of the sensation.

Bucky groaned at her constant kneading, bringing up one hand from her thigh to the back of her neck. She exposed her throat, moaning at his open wet kisses and suckling.

His hand then traveled to her neckline, his mouth licking her sternum as Wanda thoughtlessly continued to drag herself up and down on him. She was so far in a pleasure-seeking trance, too focused on Bucky and her needs, that she failed to hear the rip of her neckline.

"Aw, shit," Bucky mumbled, the other hand gripping one of her thighs falling limp. "Oh, Wanda I'm sorry, dammit."

Landing wobbly on her two feet, Wanda gazed down at her neckline and saw that it had been ripped by Bucky's fingers in a frenzy to nip at the skin beneath. Her collarbone was already splotched red.

"Are you trying to eat me?" she joked.

"Well, you are very tempting, honey," Bucky replied with a smirk before turning more serious. "But I am sorry. I can buy you a whole new uniform."

Wanda shook her head. "No, no, _draga_ , you do not have to. I can sow it."

"What did you call me?" he asked.

"Hmm?" she hummed distractedly, raising her eyes after assessing how much she'd have to sow. It wouldn't be a problem at all.

He gave her a highly amused smirk. "What you just said in Sokovian. What was it?"

It took her a moment to remember what she had said – and then her insides did a somersault. " _Draga?_ "

Bucky nodded. Again, Wanda's face heated from embarrassment. She hadn't meant for it to slip. 

She ran a shaky hand over her cheek, chuckling. "... It means dear."

" _Draga_ ," Bucky repeated endearingly. "I like it." He bent down to kiss her once more, and though it was more chaste, she still couldn't help the whimper that escaped her. Hearing the noise that he could get out of her without any effort, Bucky squeezed her waist. "So I'll see ya tomorrow night?"

Staring into his endless blue eyes, Wanda knew they shouldn't push it. But still, she murmured, "Tomorrow."

 

 


	19. Up and at 'Em

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> enjoy reading ^_^♡♡

_June 13, 1926_

Wanda wasn't so unsure about what had motivated her to buy a flapper dress. All of them, even the simple black ones with no beads, were pricey. She earned just enough to own one, but it was one of those things that she wanted, not needed. She had no use for glad rags; she was a working-class girl, not a debutante.

Until she accompanied Bobbi to a boutique last week.

Upon seeing that black velvet frock with a scoop neckline, lace short sleeves, and a bow on the handkerchief skirt that ended mid-thighs, Wanda knew she just had to have it. The problem was that she didn't know when she'd ever get the chance to wear it, so she almost convinced herself to forget about it.

And then she saw it was on sale for three dollars. Three! Wanda fished through her little purse, knowing she had brought four dollars, but still felt relieved when she count it. She had enough to purchase it. She shouldn't have though, there was no necessity.

But in the back of her mind, Wanda thought of how she didn't have a single article of clothing that flattered her body. She wasn't the curviest, like Natasha or Bobbi; but she also wasn't stick thin, like Jessica. She was somewhere in the middle, and she rather liked it.

She just wanted a dress that she felt good wearing. All the other girls her age did. What separated her from them, really?

So Wanda took the best interest in herself, for once, and bought the dress. Her mother wasn't happy one bit, reiterating the fact that she never went out at nights. That part had been true up until recently.

Now it was happening again. They were going to sneak out. And Wanda had just the dress to go in.

As she put it on for only the second time in the dim lightning of her oil lamp, she couldn't help but think that there was another reason that she got it. She had tried burying it because it wasn't sensible.

She shouldn't want to go back to the Black Panther. First, it was an illegal establishment. Should it be raided, and she be caught, God save her. Then there were Mr. Stark's rules that none of his servants were allowed to be out after hours.

That was already two strikes against her. The third and final strike was that she was carrying _something_  – a _romance_ , she thought blushingly– with her boss's son. In terms of baseball, she would be out. But it hadn't happened. Not yet. She was playing with fire, she realized, and she could feel the tips of the flames heating on her skin. It was warning her to back away before she got burned.

But Wanda couldn't.

She just... _couldn't_.

She was totally enraptured by Bucky, and what made it infinitely better was that she could see that he reciprocated. The feelings he elicited from her by a simple glance, it was beginning to be dangerously addictive. She thought of him every waking moment; his penetrating blue orbs, his soft supple lips, those exploring hands, and his velvet voice.

It was a sexual awakening that left her wanton – and she didn't know how to handle it. Other than to keep slowly feeding it, always being alert to stop it from going too deep, to the point of no return.

But it was getting harder. Harder to hold back from losing herself in him. It's all she wanted to do when she was with him. To give him everything he wanted from her. She wanted to give it freely. But she couldn't because it would cross a line, and she was uncertain if she was ready for the repercussions.

Wanda couldn't think of anything else, stuck on imagining the outcomes that would happen if she and Bucky were to go public. She would be outright be fired. That jeopardized her mama and Pietro's jobs. People would question why the Starks kept them but let go of the scandalized daughter. And then there was the Starks' reputation, or more importantly to her,  _Bucky's_ reputation. Surprisingly, there were still whispers of the Pym family after daughter Hope had carried an affair with their chauffeur. It seemed that Hope wouldn't be returning to Los Angeles any time soon, choosing to stay in the East Coast because she couldn't stand the sight of her father. No one knew what happened to the chauffeur, Scott Lang, but rumor had it he had gone back to his hometown San Francisco.

In the end, the affair had torn apart the Pym family, and that's precisely the result Wanda wanted to avoid. She could never forgive herself if that were to unfold.

Tip-toeing in the dark corridors of the Manor behind Natasha, Wanda's feet slowed. She was getting awful second thoughts, and the excitement that had been inescapable the past few hours, dissipated. She felt deflated, and kind of ashamed of what they were doing.

"Wait, wait, Natasha," she whispered, coming to a complete stop. They were a couple feet from the door that would take them to the garage where the boys were waiting.

Natasha jogged ahead until she heard Wanda. When she turned around, she frowned. "What are you doing? C'mon."

Wanda sighed. She was thinking so many things, she didn't know what to say. "I just – I mean, what _are_ we doing?"

Natasha looked confused. "What?"

Wanda flung her arms around her surroundings. "This, this, what we are doing. This is not right. This is not..." she trailed off, sighing exasperatedly as she surmised she sounded crazy for talking about this as they were in the process of slipping away.

Natasha's face softened, walking up to Wanda with a small smile. Getting a good look at the redhead, Wanda saw this time she wasn't going to borrow a dress. This number she wore, undisputedly new, was perfect for her hourglass frame. It was a sleeveless black and red velvet in floral and deco designs and a scarf attached at the shoulder with most of her red curls pulled back into a bun.

"I know, Wanda. Believe me, _I know_ ," she said. "But we're here now. It's too late to turn back. Clear your mind. It causes wrinkles, you know," she teased, lightly tapping her forehead. Wanda chuckled, lightening her mood for a quick second. "Don't think. Just do. Don't think of tomorrow. Live tonight. Okay?"

Gazing at the door behind Natasha where Bucky stood beyond, waiting for her, Wanda felt the knot in her stomach loosen. She was still afraid to think of the future, but she realized that Natasha was right. She needed to be in the moment, especially if it was to be the last. She needed to enjoy every minute of it.

Nodding, Wanda shadowed after Natasha. Very slowly, she opened the door to the outside grounds, and they quickly put on their T-strap shoes. They followed the pebbled pathway to the garages where there two automobiles parked.

Bucky, Pietro, and Steve were in the middle of the two cars, conversing quietly under a shroud of darkness. Wanda's heart skipped a beat when Bucky's eyes found her, roaming over her body. She could tell he was surprised about the dress, but it was very appreciative, and it made the back of her knees tremble.

"Tony took his car, and mines doesn't have room for the five of us, so Natasha, you'll go with me and Wanda will go with Buck," Steve explained lowly as he opened the passenger for Natasha.

As Wanda made her way to Bucky's very low speedster, which could only fit two people, she exchanged a glance at her brother who was going to ride with Natasha and Steve.

"My sister, all dolled up. Thought I'd never see the day," Pietro jested.

Wanda rolled her eyes, giving him a nudge on the arm. "Don't you start."

Bucky smiled as she approached him, his hand hovering over her lower back while leading her to his car's passenger seat.

"Hi," she greeted him shyly.

"Hey there, doll," he whispered hotly in her ear. "You look stunning."

"Thank you," Wanda blushed, skimming her fingertips over his chest before she sat in the seat. "What time will we be back?"

"My father hasn't come home yet so we'll try not to stay out too late." Bucky said as he took his own seat and turned on the engine.

The automobile was so small that it was impossible for Wanda not to touch shoulders with him. They were packed in the tiny area, and with the hood over them, she felt closed off from the rest of the world. With one hand on the steering wheel, Bucky rested the other on her knee. Wanda smiled at the sweet and protective gesture, and in response put her hand on top of his, snuggling closer to him.

They drove in silence to the speakeasy, Wanda once again finding herself admiring the raucous night life of Los Angeles as they got closer to Downtown.

When they arrived soon after her brother, Natasha, and Steve, the group was received by Laura, Valkyrie, Clint and Thor. The men went ahead while Laura and Val put some makeup on Wanda and Natasha. Once they were all set, the ladies crossed the street onto the empty Cage's restaurant. Hearing the faint rumble of music underneath her feet, Wanda couldn't help but reminisce about the first time she had gone there.

But unlike that time, she was more at ease, more comfortable being there.

The Black Panther was just as she had remembered: the jazz band, the continuous supply of illegal booze, fellas and gals dancing away their arms and legs, cigarette smoke filling up the air, and balloons taped to the ceiling.

As she had imagined, everyone she knew was huddled in a lounge booth in a back corner. Her heart warmed at the jovial hellos she received from them.

Scooting into the booth, Wanda sat in between Bucky and Carol, who was next to her brother. As if he could sense her nerves, her shyness, Bucky's hand slipped unnoticed to her lower back, rubbing circles on her spine with his thumb. In the meantime, he offered her a gin rickey.

Wanda didn't say much, choosing to hear the various conversations going on around her. She also eyed the glittery and patterned dresses of the girls, a disparity to her plain black frock. All of them wore long pearl necklaces and a variety of headbands and jeweled turbans, including Natasha. She idly wondered how much a pearl necklace or headband cost, hoping it wasn't much. 

When the band started playing a chirpy tune that Wanda instantly recognized as the one to do the Charleston dance with, the group jumped up in excitement and sprinted to the dance floor. Bucky tried very hard to get Wanda to dance with him, but since she didn't know the steps, she stayed back to enjoy seeing him have fun instead.

As she relaxed into the booth, crossing one leg over the other, Wanda realized that Carol was still beside her. She hadn't accompanied Pietro, who was busy swinging his arms and legs with his dance partner Shuri Cage.

Carol sat reclined, a cigarette burning in between her index and middle finger. She smiled amusingly as she saw Pietro and her friends dance, while showing no inkling to join them.

"Why are you not dancing?" Wanda asked.

"Quite frankly, I'm not in the mood," Carol shrugged. "And I dance better when I'm drunk, but I don't care for the booze tonight, so."

Wanda hummed in response. She didn't know what else to say, so she remained quiet. Seconds passed before Carol turned to her, her big round brown eyes slightly narrowing on her and her red lips smirking. For the first time since they had been introduced, Wanda finally discerned that Carol Danvers had a certain allure to her. She wasn't drop-dead gorgeous, but she was pleasant-looking to the eye and her poised bearing had something to do with it.

"Has Pietro mentioned us to you?" Carol inquired.

Wanda shook her head. "No."

Carol's smirk deepened. "Hmm. I thought I told him to."

Wanda smiled. "He has a hard time listening to anyone but himself."

"You got that right," Carol laughed. She took another inhale, extending the cigarette to her.

Wanda's eyes grew in surprise.

"Oh, no, thank you."

Carol looked at her funny. "No, as in you don't wanna, or no, as in you've never had one?"

A blush creeped on Wanda's cheeks. "...The second one?"

The blonde couldn't believe it. "You've _never_ smoked? _Ever?_ "

Wanda shook her head again with a small smile, flushing as she was reminded of her naiveté.

"Are you sure you and Pietro are twins?" Carol joked, eliciting a giggle from Wanda. She still held out the cigarette. "Well, here. Better late than never."

As Wanda cautiously took the cigarette and lifted it to her lips, Carol instructed her how to do. She sucked the smoke into her lungs as quickly as she could and removed the cigarette from her mouth, but it still irritated her throat and she coughed uncontrollably. Carol laughed, lightly tapping Wanda's back.

"There, there," she comforted. "It gets better as you keep doin' it."

Wanda massaged her throat as her coughing fit subsided. "I don't think I will do that again anytime soon."

Carol took another intake, her smirk going nowhere. "Point taken. You know, you two are very different. I thought he had been exaggerating a little, but I stand corrected. Bein' born on the same day is the only thing you have in common."

Wanda chuckled as she reached for her gin rickey. She wasn't surprised that she was repeating the same phrase that Pietro used to describe the vast distinctions in their personalities.

Which brought her to the nagging question that had been tucked in the back of her mind ever since she found out that Pietro had been secretly courting Carol.

"What are your intentions with my brother, Miss Danvers?" Wanda asked.

Carol snorted. "Do refrain from ever addressing as Miss Danvers, darling. Carol will do just fine. And as for your brother..." Wanda's eyes followed brown ones, locked on Pietro now at the bar chatting with some young fellas Wanda didn't know. "Like most things in life, it wasn't planned. It just happened..."

It was hard for Wanda to refute this. She knew exactly what Carol was talking about – how suddenly her life had changed when she met Bucky. For a young woman in her position, the thought of love had been inconceivable.

"I know it's scandalous what we're doing," Carol said, turning to face Wanda with a solemn look. "My parents would never approve of us. They want me to marry a man with business prospects and a good reputation, not some foreign chauffeur. If I showed up at the doorstep with Pietro in my arm, my father could very well threaten to disinherit me. But then again, one of these days I think I will do just that, because none of it would matter. As long as we have each over, we can overcome anything. I really believe that.

"'Sides, he's the one who convinced me to cut all of my hair, which nearly gave my parents a heart attack," Carol added with a grin. "It's goin' to take earthquakes and tsunamis to separate me from that boy."

It eased Wanda to hear this. She had been uncertain about them, not knowing enough had left her concerned despite Bucky's constant proclamations that Carol was heedful of their situation. But it seemed that she really cared for her brother, and that's all Wanda could ask for.

"Well, enough about me," Carol declared, taking a swig of her own drink. "How is Bucky treating you?"

Wanda smiled fondly, her eyes tracking his movements on the dance floor. "He is splendid." 

"He is, isn't he?" Carol mused. "He really is a gentleman. So loyal. If I can guarantee you anything, it's that. With him, no gal has to worry about a thing. His devotion to the people he loves is endless, and to whoever wins his heart, I raise my glass to her."

Wanda's brows narrowed slightly, a bit taken aback at the endearment Carol spoke of Bucky. Almost like she knew what it felt to be at the receiving end of his affections.

As if she could see the wheels in Wanda's mind working, Carol smiled sweetly.

"Oh, hasn't he told you? We were each other's first."

It was unlady-like to gape, but Wanda was too shocked to remember her manners. Bucky and Carol?  _They had been each other's first?_

Carol was beyond amused at the reaction. "I was sure he would've at least mentioned it to you! Men and their secrets," she tutted. "But yes, we were once together. When we were younger and foolish."

Wanda wasn't one to ever pry into private lives, it wasn't her business at all. But this one time, she couldn't hide her curiosity – not when it dealt with Bucky.

"What happened?" she asked. 

Carol blew out smoke with a chuckle. "We were too damn alike! We always knew that, we've been friends literally all of our lives. But when we were together, it just brought out even more similarities. By the end of it, we realized we loved each other like siblings."

"You are still very close to him." Wanda meant it as a question, but she quickly realized it needn't be asked. The answer was obvious.

"Well... he's a rare gem," Carol said, her eyes twinkling with a far away look. "Without his support, I wouldn't have dared confessed to my parents about my sexuality. He was the first one I told and when my parents refused to accept it, I wasn't left alone. I had him in my corner, and for that I'll always be grateful to him."

Having heard only whispers of Carol's rumored bisexuality, it lifted a long veil in Wanda's conscience to hear her acknowledge it. She hadn't known a veil had been there in the first place, but to feel it lift and go away, it was almost invigorating. She wasn't ready to tell her mama, but to know someone who had had the valor to do so, to be frank about it and not be even remotely apologetic... Wanda doesn't think she was more envious of a person than she was of Carol Danvers in that moment.

"I wish I had your courage," Wanda admitted softly. "I do prefer men, but I have also experienced other... temptations."

Brown brows knitted with intrigue. "What do – are you implyin'..."

In a cheeky move unlike her, Wanda simply sipped on her gin rickey, avoiding meeting Carol's penetrating stare. Instead, she focused on her brother, who left the bar and was walking towards them.

"Alright, enough of beating one's gums," Pietro said, taking the cigarette out of his partner's mouth to swiftly intake it himself before smashing it on an ashtray. "Carol, come dance with me."

Wanda could only smile as Carol continued to eye her suspiciously over her shoulder with that knowing smirk. She didn't know what had pushed her to admit such a secret to someone she barely knew, but somehow she still trusted Carol to keep quiet about it.

When she saw Bucky approaching, Wanda's smile widened. Sitting beside her, he handed her a shot glass. 

"What were you and Danvers talkin' this whole time?" he asked, encircling an arm around her while the other held his shot.

"Girl things," was all Wanda replied. She observed the glass in her hand, then clicked it with his, and tilted her neck back as she downed the whiskey.

The taste was so strong, Wanda had to momentarily squeeze her eyes shut and let the horrid taste soak in her throat. When she reopened them, she found Bucky leaning very close. He was staring, the palm that had previously held his glass now resting on her knee.

The blood rushing to her face, her motor senses laxing with each passing second, it gave rise to that unknown heat in her abdomen. She felt Bucky's fingers slowly crawl up her thigh, never going under her dress but squeezing at the muscle. The sensation of it, his musk infiltrating her nose, the beads of sweat on his forehead, and his dark blue eyes concentrated on just her – it was _overwhelming_.

Wanda closed the gap, her small hands holding his face as she kissed him. Bucky clung onto her, pushing her into the booth as they exchanged a multitude of kisses, not caring how lazily their tongues and teeth clashed.

She ran her fingers through his sweaty hair, loving his soft it was – and his lips too, so plump and stained red from her lipstick. And he had taken off his jacket, his dress shirt hiding those taut abs that Wanda had seen over and over again and dreamed of touching them. She took the opportunity then, running her palm over his chest, her thumb teasing his nipple which elicited a low growl from him that only excited her more.

So caught up in the heated moment Wanda was, trying to hold back from climbing on top of him by reminding herself they were in a public place, that she actually whined when he abruptly pulled away.

Or rather, Bucky's collar was yanked by an out of breath Danny Rand.

"Sorry to interrupt the lovefest – but your father's on his way down here! We gotta hide y'all!"

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fun fact: afternoon/party dresses were $7-$12 in 1926 which is $96-$165 today. only the wealthy wore the flashy dresses we see in movies. the working class usually wore home made dresses


	20. The Great Temptations

_June 13, 1926 – continued_

It did her no good to run while buzzed from that rye whiskey shot, but she had no choice.

Her boss, Bucky's father, Mr. Howard Stark, was in the Black Panther bar. And if they were to get spotted in an illegal speakeasy of all places on the planet... no, Wanda couldn't even bear to fathom, or she'd vomit.

Danny sequestered them inside a tiny closet, assuring he would come back once the coast was clear. From the brief glimpse she saw, they were being stuffed in a storage closet used to keep cleaning supplies.

It was completely dark when Danny closed the door. Wanda instinctively reached for Bucky, laying her shakings hands on his chest as he gripped her waist.

"You–you said we w-would not get caught," Wanda stammered. Whether it was because she was scared to death or an effect of the whiskey, she couldn't figure out. Maybe it was both. "You p-promised."

Bucky hushed her. "We won't, doll, we won't. I trust the Cages. They won't rat us out."

At the mention of _us_ , she remembered it wasn't just them hiding. There was Natasha, Steve, Carol, _Pietro!_ Her brother, always a troublemaker, where was he? He was easily agitated, especially when he had a couple of drinks in him. She couldn't be separated from him, they had to be together, so he could be calm and not do anything stupid.

"Pietro. Where is he, where did they hide him?" she asked. She strained her hearing senses, hoping to listen about the activities happening in the bar. But they had been led down a dim hallway, and the jazz band made it difficult to hear.

Bucky tried to soothe her. "Wanda, he's okay, don't worry–"

"Do not tell me to stop worrying!" Wanda snapped, feeling her eyes burn with unshed tears. She hated that she couldn't see a thing, except feel claustrophobic with all the tight walls around her. "My brother is out there and–and I need to know that he is okay, that he is safe–"

"My brother's out there too, Wanda!" Bucky interrupted angrily. "He's – I mean, we're hiding from my own _father_ , for God's sake."

Wanda winced at hearing his harsh tone. She tried to keep her tears back, but one still managed to escape. She smacked her teeth in annoyance at the display of weakness.

Hearing her sniff, Bucky scoffed, running a hand through his hair. He let out a long sigh and made her jump when he started caressing her wet cheek. "Please, darlin'... take a breath and calm your nerves. We'll only stay here until he leaves. Everythin' will be alright."

Wanda wanted to believe him, she really did, but he was uncertain just as her. He didn't know if the others had been hidden away in time. The only thing she could do was pray that they had.

"You promised," Wanda repeated tearfully a minute later.

"And I keep my promises, don't I? Nothing's gonna happen," Bucky assured her.

Wanda buried her face in the crook of his neck, nodding even though she was filled with doubt and anxiety.

They stayed in that position for a while. No words were exchanged. They stayed completely silent, waiting with tensed shoulders.

But being locked away where there was no air ventilation, it quickly got torrid hot. Wanda felt the perspiration build up in her armpits and the valley of her breasts, among other places. Her anxiety soon melted into boredom and a need to get the hell out of that hole.

And it was so small, they couldn't move without toppling over a broom or the buckets on the floor. They had to stay still, and as the minutes passed, their limbs grew stiff and uncomfortable.

Wanda wiped the sweat forming on her forehead and the bridge of her nose as she felt Bucky bring her close to his body. She wanted to tell him it was better if they weren't embracing, to minimize their body heat, but she was too mentally weary to lift a hand. 

"Did I tell compliment you tonight? How utterly beautiful you look? 'Cause you do."

Wanda's lips pursed as she thought back to his face expression in the garage. "I think the word you used was 'stunning.'"

"Ah, you are correct, love," he whispered beside her ear. His hand journeyed to her lower back, his fingertips slowly caressing her there back and forth. "Is it a new dress? I didn't recognize it from last time."

"What if I have had it all this time, waiting for the right occasion to wear it?" she replied wittingly. 

"Then you picked one helluva night, doll," he chuckled. "But you're beautiful regardless of your attire."

Wanda raised a brow, though he couldn't see it. "Even my uniform?"

" _Including_ your uniform. The dreams I've had with you in that black and white..." He chuckled darkly, clearing his throat.

Wanda smiled, blushing beet red. "Well... I have dreamed about you too," she revealed. Why she was being suddenly open about an intimate part of her, she had no idea.

"Oh really? What do I do in your dreams?"

How she wished she could see his face. She could practically hear the smirk in his velvet voice.

She was too demure to dare tell him what he'd do to her in those nocturnal episodes of hers, so she settled on something simple. "You kiss me. And kiss me and kiss me..."

"Hmm... sounds nice." He murmured.

The pad of his thumb pressed into her lower lip, parting her mouth as he tilted her head back. She could only faintly trace the outline of his face in the total darkness, but it still made her tremble in the knees as she imagined how his blue eyes could darken with lust.

Bucky bent down and caught her in a searing kiss, the passion bringing out a whimper from her. He groaned in response and in one step, had her back against the closet's door. There was absolutely no room for them to change positions, so Wanda settled on lifting one leg on his side. Her dress exposed her thigh, and Bucky quickly rubbed his palm, kneading at her skin as he brought her even more closer than she thought possible.

It was becoming unbearably hot, and it wasn't just because of the lack of cool air. Wanda's insides boiled at the very intimate contact, her thigh being held on his waist, so high that it lifted her other foot off the ground. And she could _feel_ it, through her slip, the growing bulge in his trousers. 

Her core ached to grind against it, to create any friction, but then he unexpectedly dropped her leg and pulled away.  

"Oh, God, Wanda..." Bucky shuddered, resting his warm forehead on her shoulder. "It's... it's gettin' hard. Real hard."

"What do you mean?" she asked slowly. 

"Holdin' back." He grunted, sounding like he was in pain.

"Oh," she breathed.  _Oh._

So that is why he always stopped before they went too far. He was being a gentleman, trying to keep her virtue intact.

Wanda wanted to kiss him and thank him for being considerate. Especially after realizing that although she constantly reminded herself to break apart before they got carried away, it was always Bucky who put space between them.

She hadn't thought about her virginity. Yes, it was important to her. But whenever she was with Bucky, it was becoming stark clear that she didn't think about it as much as Bucky apparently did. It made her put everything in perspective. 

Wanda's arms slinked back down her sides, her longing disappearing as she distanced herself from him. She cleared her dry throat, which was in much need of an ice-cold drink. 

"Wait a second." He paused, and she noticed that he was no longer touching her. "Are you...?"

Wanda nodded, but realizing that he couldn't see it, confirmed his question in a soft voice.

Bucky was quiet, then he gently lifted her chin and his lips hovered over hers as he spoke. "Then... it'd mean the world to me if I was your first. I would be honored, Wanda."

She felt tears brimming in her eyelids. What had she done to deserve such a sweet, righteous man?

"There is no else I would rather lose it to," she admitted happily, meaning every word.

His large hands once again gripped her hips, Wanda wounding her arms around his shoulders as she was engulfed into another passionate kiss.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Natasha sat on top of a wooden table, legs crossed at the ankles as she surveyed her surroundings. They were in a room where there were stacks and stacks of bottles on the walls, with sections of barrels off to a corner.

"I hope they got to him in time," Steve said under his breath. He was pacing by the door, his hands tucked in the pockets of his trousers.

"I saw Danny Rand take them. I'm sure they're fine," Natasha replied.

It didn't surprise her when he gave her a questioning look and started to argue. "But–but what if–"

Natasha sighed, hopping off the table. "Now, now, Steve," she tutted. "Don't get ideas, it won't help."

He gently grabbed her hands. "You're sure Danny got to them?"

"Yes," she nodded. "They were in the booth together when T'Challa came to get us."

For a second Steve's face relaxed, then fell again. "Oh, I dunno know how I didn't see this coming. Father does this all the time. When he comes late. It's usually because he comes here. I dunno know why I didn't think of it."

"It's not your fault," she ran her fingers through his tousled blonde hair, smiling when he closed his eyes. "Nobody could've known."

"I just hope he has a quick chat and leaves," Steve sighed.

Natasha hummed in agreement. This was the last thing she wanted to happen, but if they stayed hidden and no one gave them away, then they would be okay. She had to keep believing that. If not for her sake, then Steve, who was visibly distressed.

She needed to change the topic of conversation, to alleviate his brooding. And her own anxiety, which was slowly growing in her mind no matter how hard she tried to push it off.

"Hey..." she cooed, standing just inches from him. He opened his eyes and Natasha cursed herself for being so weak. She almost ceased speaking, wanting to just stare into his blue irises. "Did you mean it when you said you were in love with me?"

His features softened, a crooked smile gracing his pink lips. "Well... whatever I'm feeling must be love because I dunno know what else to call it," he offered in a husky tone, making Natasha feel lightheaded. They were standing _so_ close. "Do... do you reciprocate?"

She didn't even know where to begin. She could rain down a long list of his perfections, but even that wouldn't be enough to illustrate how he made her feel. How he made her desperately wish that their economic situations weren't so vastly apart. How he made her feel so at home in his embrace, and yet not safe enough to stop from looking over her shoulder. He made her feel an abundant amount of emotions, all conflicting each other, it made her head spin.

She could be honest with him, because God knew she wanted to be, but she realized that it wasn't what he was asking. He was asking a simple question, and he deserved an answer. It wouldn't be simple, but it was truly what she felt.

"I've never been treated so kindly by a man before you," she started, rubbing her palms on his cheeks. "The feelings you bring out of me, no one man has ever done. It warms my heart to hear you say you love me. But..." she paused, bringing her hands down to his chest. "I want to wait for the right time to say it back. I want to be certain, just like you are of me."

He looked at her so lovingly, Natasha wanted to scream. His grip on her waist tightened, and the butterflies reemerged in her stomach as she laid the side of her face on his chest. He encircled his arms around her, his cologne scent taking over her nose. She inhaled deeply, imprinting his smell on her soul for the rest of her days.

"I'm fine with that," he whispered into her ear, sending shivers up and down her body. "I'm just fine with that."

 

 

* * *

 

 

Carol hadn't realized how spacious the speakeasy was. They had so many rooms, it was no wonder that they had been separated from the others.

Then again, it wouldn't have been smart to place them all in one room when they had several. Carol liked that Shuri had brought them to an office with leather loveseat. 

Aside from a pair of windows where the moonlight sneaked through, it was still dark enough that she couldn't discern whose office this belonged to.

But that didn't matter.

As soon as they were left alone, she shoved Pietro down on the loveseat and straddled him.

"What are you–" Pietro grinned, getting cut off by an open-mouthed kiss.

"Can't let good ol' Mr. Stark ruin all the fun, hmm?" she said in between kisses.

"Mmm," he moaned as his neck titled back, allowing her to run her tongue on the skin there. "... No. But you did not have to come with me. You could stayed– _ow_!" 

Carol peered up from beneath her long dark lashes with a playful smirk.

"Where you go, I go," she reminded him while rubbing the spot where she had nicked him with her thumb.

Pietro smiled that sloppy smile she adored, and she couldn't resist but to lean in and lay a wild one on him.

"Tell me," he breathed into her mouth.

His hands took hold of her waist.

"Tell ya what?"

Carol shuddered when his hands slipped under her dress, trailing up her thighs.

"You and my sister. What did you talk about?"

His hands kept going up her chest, causing her to groan appreciatively.

"Why.... why'd you wanna know?"

Her back arched into him as he cupped her breasts, lightly pinching her nipples. It left her keening.

"Just curious."

_Oh, why was he still talking?!_

Carol shrugged absentmindedly, too focused on grinding against him to think of anything but him. "Nothing significant."

Leaving her breasts, his hands crawled to lay flat on her back. She laid most of her upper body on him, almost cradling herself on him.

"Then tell me," he urged.

Carol shook her head in annoyance. She needed to stop him from talking. "Ugh, it's none of your business, Pietro."

"Aw, come on,  _mačkice_ ," he purred, capturing her bottom lip with his teeth.

Damn him, he knew the effect he had on her when he called her that! Well, there was only one way to combat this. He wouldn't get what he wanted this time, no sir. Some things were just better if kept between two people, and she would show him.

Carol's hand slid down to the opening of his trousers. She was so lightning quick, distracting him with her open wet kisses. Her fingers found the zipper, slipped under his underwear, and him already growing for her. She firmly gripped his length, making his jaw fall, gasping loudly.

"C-Carol!" Pietro shivered, his hand flying to clasp onto her wrist. She gave him a brazen smile.

"I desire you, Pietro, you can't imagine," she purred into his ear, nipping at his lobe. She loved how he bucked under her with every stroke. "I wanna take you in the motorcar you drive around the Starks. I always wanna be inside you forever, Pietro, so my parents and the whole world can see we're madly in love."

As she increased her pace, Pietro's body trembled. Oh, how she absolutely reveled in pleasuring him. He was rough and arrogant to everyone, but sweet and sensitive when he was with her, it nearly made her come just thinking of it.

His mouth parted slightly, making Carol do the same as she spread his slickness around his erection. His breathing was becoming labored, fingernails digging deep into her hipbones. She knew what that meant.

"Close,  _mačkice_  ... so close," Pietro begged.

Carol bit her lip in anticipation, smiling as she bore witness to her love reaching his peak. It was perverse, doing this in the place of their friends with numerous of patrons beyond the door.

And yet she found it so pleasurable that she was raising her hand to pinch her harden nipple.

Then she heard three knocks.

Carol instantaneously removed her hand and stumbled to her feet. The haze of lust she had been under dissipated as the door swung open.

"Carol? Pietro? You can come out now, Mr. Stark is gone," announced Danny, poking his head through the threshold.

He slowly stepped into the room, and Carol nearly burst into laughter.

Danny's eyebrows nearly flew off seeing her stand awkwardly, her dress disheveled and her arms folded behind her back so he wouldn't notice how wet one of her hands were. 

And then there was a grimaced Pietro, shuffling desperately to zip up his trousers.

" _Sranje, s_ _ranje, sranje!_ " He spat, obviously frustrated at having been interrupted. 

Danny snickered, crossing his arms over his chest as he leaned against the wall, leaving the door wide open. Pietro looked so sad, sitting on the loveseat facepalmed with embarrassment, that she wanted to hug him.

"Well..." Danny grinned. "That was close."

Carol didn't hold back her fit of giggles at the death glare Pietro sent him.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> love triangles are interesting, right?
> 
> alert: drama ahead (;


	21. Scatter Your Smiles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hope you remember who pvt. lorraine is: she's the blonde woman (played by natalie dormer) who kissed steve & we're caught by peggy in cap 1. for the sake of this fic, im making her sisters with maria hill.

  _June 15, 1926_

For the first time in days, neither of the boys were hungover at the breakfast table. Howard liked to believe it was because they knew he was departing for a week-long business trip to South America and wanted to give him a proper sendoff. In reality, Marian had given their sons a stern warning the night before to stay away from the booze for at least a couple hours. Which they did, but it also gave them a reason to laugh at how their parents treated them like they were alcoholics.

"How's your slate of pictures coming along, Father?" asked Tony as he took a bite of his blueberry scone.

"All right, son," Howard said while cutting his banana pancake that Natasha just served him. " _In the Name of Love_ is still on pace to premier in November, and the studio has three pictures already shooting on the lots. Not to mention another couple we're almost ready to start production."

"Oh, that's wonderful, dear," Marian beamed at her husband.

"Did you hear about what the Warner brothers are doin' with that Barrymore picture?" queried Bucky. He had heard about their brand-new sound system Vitaphone, which could apparently use musical scores and sound effects synchronized to the films. It was an alien concept for Bucky, to add sound to the pictures, but he couldn't help but be intrigued too.

"Sound-on-disc, they call it," Howard replied with a dry chuckle. "I'm never a pessimist when it comes to innovations, but with this one, I'll wait for the public responses."

"If it's successful, I think we should follow suit," Bucky replied.

"Mmm. I agree," Marian said.

Tony snorted. "Why change the process when it's been so successful?"

"Funny you should ask that, since you're always babbling about how much of a 'pioneer' you are," Bucky quipped with a knowing smirk.

Tony rolled his eyes, sipping his coffee. "I'm just sayin' that no one's complained about the pictures. I don't hear anyone sayin' they wanna see a picture with music playing and people _talkin'_!"

"Then maybe it's time for something new," Steve commented, taking a gulp of his Earl Grey tea. "Who knows, it could be even more successful than the silents."

"Speaking on new endeavors," Howard cleared his throat. "Steve, are you _sure_ you want to go to that art school?"

"Yes," Steve nodded.

Marian frowned. "You know he does. He just came back from orientation!"

"Well, yes, yes, I know, honey, but..." Howard trailed off, still looking unconvinced of the idea. "Truthfully, son, what do you expect you're going to get out of art school that you can't working with me, your father?"

"Is that a serious question?" Tony scoffed under his breath. It didn't go unnoticed by anyone at the table. 

"I've made up my mind," Steve sighed. He didn't know how many times he had to repeat himself when they discussed this. He was dedicated to painting, it was inarguably his first love, and he wanted to find out if it could also become his profession.

"Ah. Well," Howard's face fell slightly. "A position will always be open for you, son. Should you, you know, change your mind..."

"I won't," Steve responded steadily. "But thank you, Father. I appreciate it."

"Watch Stevie become the next Picasso or Matisse. He'll be richer than all of us put together," Tony declared with half his mouth full of buttered bread, smiling from ear to ear seeing Howard immediately stiffen.

Steve chuckled nervously, shooting a wary glance at Tony. He really shouldn't tease their father. "Let's not get carried away."

"Oh!" exclaimed Marian. "I nearly forgot, silly me." She turned to her sons, focusing on Bucky and Steve. "You remember the Hill twins? Maria and Lorraine? Well, since their father Edward is accompanying your father to Rio, then I thought that his daughters could stay the week with us."

Bucky's face blanched. " _What_?"

The fork in Steve's grip slipped, falling noisily on his plate. "You... you invited _them_?"

Natasha, who had been standing quietly by the entrance, lifted her eyes at the displeased tone in Steve's voice. She caught him glancing at her, and it bothered her to see his uneasiness.

"Yes! It's the least I could do," Marian offered, her brows knitting in confusion. "Why, is something wrong with them coming here?"

"No, no, no–" Steve started to say.

"Uh _yeah_ –" Tony bluntly interrupted.

Marian's eyes grew. "What –"

Howard lowered his cup, lips pursed. "Excuse me–"

"There's–There's no problem, ma," Bucky insisted with a nervous smile. "No problem at all. None. I'm... I'm glad we'll have guests over."

After a moment, their mother smiled. "Of course!" she reasoned. "You've known each other since you were children. It's rare to have friendships that have lasted that long."

"Yeah..." Bucky glimpsed at Steve, who was smiling so lamely he had to look away.

"Oh, my sweet mother," Tony tsked, shaking his head. "You're so obvious, it's laughable."

"What do you mean?" Marian asked, her voice pitching a bit high.

"Convenient of them to come when both Buck and Steve are single." 

Marian arched a brow, sipping her tea. "And?"

"I didn't take you for matchmaker," Tony snickered.

Steve winced, while Bucky shot daggers at Tony. Though both wished to convince their mother of backing out of the invitation, to come up with some little white lie that they couldn't entertain the twins, they knew she couldn't. It was too late; they were on their way and it would be in bad taste to send them back to Chicago.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Natasha really hated when her stomach would recoil like it was doing at the moment. She really, _really_ hated it because often or not, it was a sign. A warning sign of dreadful things to come.

What had Tony meant by matchmaker? Why had both Steve and Bucky seemed irked that they would be welcoming the Hill sisters? And why was the mistress vibrant when she talked about them, even when her sons didn't seem interested in the least?

By the time Natasha reached the downstairs dining hall, she could only come up with one answer. It was the only one that correlated with what Tony had said, the mistress feigning innocence when Natasha could see right through her – the only one that made sense.

The mistress wasn't inviting those sisters just because her father was traveling with Mr. Stark. It might’ve been a coincidence, but the mistress took advantage of it.

It was true that Steve and Bucky were single young men. And if Natasha was to take a guess, their mother would see to change their status as soon as possible.

She felt her grip on the tray handles weaken, her breath shortening. Halting as she reached the stairs to the quarters, she inhaled and softly blew out air. Closing her eyes for a moment, she leaned on the wall for support.

She should've seen this coming. She should have! How could she be so stupid to think she even stood a chance? Of course the mistress would try to find wealthy and respectable women for her two younger sons. It was only natural for her to do it, and Natasha couldn’t hold it against her.

But still…

Steve had told her he loved her. _He loved her_. He had said it first, not the other way around. He did, and… she had believed him. The tender moments they have shared, his kisses and caresses, it lit up a fire in her that she had never thought possible. And the lustful manner that he looked at her with those warm blue eyes, it made her feel desired and appreciated and _loved_.

That's all Natasha wished to have in this life. Love. The unbreakable bond her parents had had, she desperately wanted it.

To think she could've almost had it with Steve… no, they could never be together. His parents would never accept them. A scandal could ruin them, like it did with the Pyms. She couldn't bring all the shame onto his family, not if she really loved him.

And she does. Despite not being strong to admit to the man claiming her heart, she could no longer hide it from herself. She was starting to love him.

But it doesn’t matter. It never mattered. What they had was an insignificant dalliance; it never had any value. The faster she accepted it, the less painful it would be to forget him.

Sniffing back tears, Natasha composed herself and continued down the stairs. Where she belonged, below looking up at everyone else.

She spotted Wanda alone in the dining hall polishing silver. Discarding of the tray of empty plates in the kitchen, Natasha decided to approach her. They were both in the same situation and she deserved to know what was about to happen.

"Wanda, I'd like to speak with you," she said, taking a seat next to the brunette.

"About what?"

Natasha grabbed a cloth, dipped it into cornstarch mixed with water, and started to rub it on spoons. "Did you know that we're having guests over?"

"No, who?"

"Edward Hill's twin daughters Maria and Lorraine. Mr. Stark is going on his trip with Mr. Hill, so the mistress invited his daughters to stay here for the week."

"Hmm," Wanda thrummed.

Perceiving her disinterest, Natasha put down the spoons and sighed. "They've known Steve and Bucky for a long time. And Tony... he noted that they're both single and... and it seemed like the mistress wants them to spend time with the twins."

Wanda's brisk hand movements slowed down.

"What do you mean?"

"...I think that the mistress wants Steve and Bucky to get close to them."

Wanda finally looked up, ceasing her cleaning altogether, her features befuddled.

"You _think_?" 

"Well, the mistress didn't say it outright. But the manner in which she persuaded, the surprised reactions from Steve and Bucky, and Tony calling the mistress a matchmaker..." Natasha shook her head as she recalled.

"What if you are wrong?" Wanda asked, her voice trembling. "What–what if you misinterpreted her? They... they would tell us... Bucky would, I know he wou–"

Wanda's eyes suddenly diverted from hers to something behind her. Natasha gazed over her shoulder to find Daisy at the end of the stairs, her expression unreadable. Had she been listening the entire time? 

"You shouldn't underestimate Mrs. Stark," Daisy informed them in an unemotional voice, brown eyes cold. "After all, she's the one who pushed Barnes to Miss Danvers and Rogers to Miss Carter."

 

 

* * *

 

 

Bucky was with Steve in the drawing room having a cigarette and glass of bourbon when they heard the doorbell ring. His heart dropped a little at the sound which signaled their arrival.

It's not that he didn't want them there, though he could do without Lorraine Hill. It was the reason _why_ they were there. The _real_ reason.

"They're here," said Steve, getting to his feet and buttoning up his jacket.

"Yeah," he muttered, not making an effort to hide his unenthusiasm from Steve.

Taking a final gulp of his bourbon, Bucky cleared his throat and ran his fingers through his hair. He hadn't even bothered to put on gel.

He trailed behind Steve as they walked down the foyer, hands in his trousers front pockets.

Bucky could already hear the echoes of girlish voices, and he winced hearing one specific voice commanding Jarvis of exactly where to put her belongings in her guest room.

He had always gotten along with Maria Hill, but her sister Lorraine, not so much. It was startling how different they were; Maria was poised and respectful, while Lorraine was an utter snob. Hosting her was off-putting, but at the same time he reminded himself that at least she wasn't being paired with him.

Poor, poor Steve.

When he silently rounded the corner, Maria's sparkling blue eyes immediately landed on him. His sour mood somewhat waned upon sighting her; she was still pretty as ever.

"Bucky!" she greeted him with a jolly grin, kissing his cheek. "How've you been? It's been so long!"

"And you've since fixed your teeth," Lorraine added with a cocky smirk.

It took willpower for Bucky to resist rolling his eyes in front of her, but he managed.  _Not long enough_ , he thought annoyingly.

Maria scoffed, regarding him with kind eyes. "Ignore her. You look wonderful."

"Thank you," he smiled slightly. "Come on in, we'll have lunch in the drawing room."

"Oooh, what did your Italian cook make this go-around?" asked Lorraine.

Bucky looked over his shoulder, finding Lorraine's arm linked with Steve, who looked a breath away from running off.

"Our Italian cook has a name." He spoke plainly.

"Who cares what her name is," she flippantly waved a wrist into the air. "I just wanna know what she cooked for us."

Bucky gritted his teeth. God, she was insufferable. "We'll find out soon enough, won't we?"

The four of them entered the drawing room, taking seats on the canapés. Maria took her place next to Bucky, and Steve across from them with Lorraine.

"So what's been going in the Windy City? It's one of the few big cities in the country that I've still yet to visit," said Steve.

"Aside from the political corruption, gangs, and whorehouses, all's just swell," Lorraine said with a sarcastic bite in her tone.

Maria chuckled, no doubt to downplay her sister's candid. "Yes, the family company is doing very good. More cars are being made daily, and lots of families are eager to buy 'em."

Whilst Bucky was glad to hear that they were successful in their ventures, he was more captivated by the stories that had been in the newspapers of Chicago and its bloody gang wars.

"What about the Mafia?" he asked. "Alphonse Capone and Joe Aiello, Bugs Moran, The Schemer."

Maria shrugged a shoulder, frowning. "What about them?"

"I'm always reading the newspaper about them and their gangs. It seems like every other day, people associated with them are killing each other off."

"Oh, it's madness!" Lorraine exclaimed with a pout. "I just don't know how daddy can even stand being around them, let alone conduct business."

" _Lorraine_!" Maria scolded.

Bucky's jaw dropped, but internally he rejoiced seeing Lorraine still had an unfiltered mouth. He could always count on her to _not_ be quiet. "Wait, hold on – did you just say your father is involved with the _Mafia_?"

"Oh, now you've done it," Maria muttered, eyes downcast in embarrassment.

"Ah, well, um," Lorraine stuttered. "I mean, well... yes. If you lived in Chicago and had a lot of money, you'd be a fool not to. But–but it's not like daddy wanted it. _They_ came to _him_."

"Then we have to entertain them in our home, acting like we want them there when I'd rather they just leave my daddy alone," Maria shook her head in disgust.

"I'm sorry to hear this," said Steve, momentarily placing a hand on Lorraine's knee. Her pouting instantly upturned into a smile, and Bucky had to look away. It wasn't polite to sneer at ladies.

"I've been told it's been the opposite in Los Angeles," Maria changed the subject, sort of. "Gang-related activities have gone down in dramatic numbers."

"Er, when it comes to murders," Bucky pointed out. "But there's still crime going on, the Cages and Wings are still rivals."

"Well, if blood is not being shed every day like it does in Chicago, then it's already ten times safer."

Lorraine smacked her teeth and rose. "Alright, no more talk of gangsters when I come back after freshening up."

As soon as the blonde left, Steve's spirits noticeably lifted. Bucky himself could feel the heavy pressure be released from Steve's shoulders as he stood up.

"I'll, uh, go out to the balcony. Catch some air," he announced shortly.

"You do that brother," Bucky replied, the corner of his mouth twitching in a little smirk. Poor man, indeed.

Left with only Maria, he wondered where their food was. He hadn’t listened to Jarvis tell them who would deliver it.

Now that he thought about it, though, he hoped it wouldn’t be his doll. The whole afternoon, he had spent thinking of what to say to her. He couldn’t lie to her; it was out of the question. He cared for her too much to downplay this. He needed to be honest about this mess that his mother had created.

"I also heard about Carol," Maria said after a moment of silence. "Her being, you know, bisexual. Telling her parents."

Bucky blinked out of his thoughts. "Uh, yeah."

"It doesn't bother me, if that's what you're thinking. I have nothing against people like that. I think it does a little to Lorraine, but she's been more conservative than me."

Another not-so surprising fact about her twin. Honestly, how could they possibly be related? They didn’t even look alike.

"She's not currently involved with a woman. If that's what you wanted to know," he added.

"I already do," Maria nodded. She then leaned closer, allowing Bucky to smell her white gardenias perfume. "And it also made me wonder if I was bisexual. If I found girls attractive, would I find Carol attractive. And I realized that I did."

Bucky cocked a brow, taken aback at her apparent confession, and also confused as to where the conversation was going.

"Luckily, I'm not like that," she laughed softly. She tentatively a small, manicured hand and laid it on his forearm. "I have my eyes on someone else."

For a second, those sparkling blue irises held his attention. He was so thrown off guard by the abrupt turn of their conversation that he couldn't do anything but look back at her, that lovingly stare that he had been subjected to for the last couple years.

Then the second was over with the shattering of plates and glass. Bucky instinctively bounced in his seat, his head whipping to the source of the crash – and his heart plummeted.

Wanda's mouth was parted in a small o, green eyes wide as saucers and brimming with tears, the tray of their food and drinks spilled all over her feet and the floor.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ill be away for a month visiting family in another country so i apologize in advance if i don't update for some time
> 
> much love ♡♡♡


	22. Say It Again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> one month is by far the longest i've ever gone without writing. doesnt mean i wasn't tempted... but i resisted. & it worked because this was written in a couple hours xP
> 
> hope you enjoy ♡♡

_June 15, 1926 – continued_

Wanda didn't feel the tray slip from her grasp, the plates carrying saltine crackers dolloped with peanut butter and glasses of freshly squeezed lemonade falling and crashing below her. She didn't feel anything, couldn't hear anything except for the thunderous beat of her heart, pounding in her ears and in her chest.

Natasha's voice re-emerged in the back of her mind at the sight of them. The brunette's dainty hand resting on his arm, gazing into each other's eyes as if they were a lovestruck couple.

She stared uncomprehending, her mouth slightly agape, a violent tsunami of hurt and jealousy rolling over her entire body. Bucky's neck whipped in her direction as if he had sensed her presence. He looked down at what had once been held in her hands, and then up at her, and her heart constricted even more at seeing the regret flash across his alarmed features.

He shot up from the canapé, the abrupt force of the movement throwing off the girl's hand to the side. At the same time, Steve blew past the doors of the balcony, looking bewildered.

"What on earth–!" Steve gasped, his eyes widening when he found the source of the crash at Wanda's feet.

In that moment, the ringing in her ears lessened, the blood began to circulate in her veins again – and she finally registered the mess she had made. Blinking her dry eyes, she saw that Bucky, Steve, and the girl were all peering at her in shock. But it didn’t take long for Steve to go to her aid.

"Are you hurt?" he asked softly as he stepped forward with an extended arm.

Hearing Steve, seeing him move to her, fully brought Wanda to her senses. And all she was feeling was embarrassment. Ashamed at the pity looks they were regarding her.

She had never been so mortified in her life.

"I am... so sorry... I will clean this up – I will," Wanda sniffed as she unceremoniously fell to the floor. She gathered the broken pieces and splattered food on the tray in a haste, not caring if she got cut. The carpet was stained, so that meant she'd have to tell Jarvis, who would make her find time to scrub it sometime later that night. It was the least of what she deserved.

She kept her head low, too humiliated to continue facing them. Facing _him_. She didn't want him to see how quickly her eyes were becoming red, how she'd burst into tears as soon as she was out of there.

Steve crouched down in front of her. "Well... at least let me–"

"No." Wanda snapped, snatching a piece of glass from him, probably with a bit too much force, but the last thing she wanted was his help. "Please don't touch it."

Steve opened his mouth to contest, but a dark chuckle stopped him from saying what he was going to say. Wanda slowly lifted her head to see a beautiful blonde with blue eyes and thin red lips pass by her unconcerned.

"Aren't you a clumsy little girl?" the blonde sneered as she looked down at Wanda on her knees.

"Lorraine, don't." The brunette spoke with a tensed tone, and Wanda soon discerned to her anguish that they were the Hill twins.

The blonde simply shrugged and took her seat.

"Come here, Stevie," she beckoned. "You don't have to do that. _She'll_ clean it up."

Clearing her tightened throat, Wanda retrieved the last few pieces. Without throwing another glance at Steve or the rest of them, she rose and held the tray close to her chest. She didn't even excuse herself, just scattered out of the drawing room as if she was a child and had been reprimanded by her father.

Soon as she was away from their invading eyes, her vision was blurred from tears. She let out short gasps as the whole traumatizing incident repeated in her mind.

She hadn't caught them doing anything inappropriately, but the sight of that gal's polished fingernails on Bucky was enough to shock her on the spot.

And the brunette was so pretty, much more than Wanda, that it was no surprise Bucky seemed captivated by her. She was a real society lady with money and beauty; Wanda understood why the prospect of being with the gal seemed inciting.

Wanda knew she was owed no explanation. After all, Natasha had _just_ warned her. Bucky wasn't courting her – he couldn't, even if they wanted to. They couldn't be together, so whatever they had going on at the moment, it wouldn't last. It was simply a silly dalliance, something for them both to get lost in for a while, before they'd inevitably go their separate ways. It meant nothing; _he_ meant nothing.

Nevertheless… her heart was breaking apart.

She tried telling herself again and again, that she shouldn't care about him. Sure, he had said very, _very_ lovely words to her (most phrases no man had ever told her) but those words had been spoken in heated moments. It most likely held no meaning for him, and so it shouldn’t hold meaning for her either.

But she also couldn't swallow back the bitterness in her tongue. He didn't owe her a single thing, but he could've at least been considerate. She wasn't asking for much – she held him in high respect and felt that he could've treated her a bit more… civil. It wouldn't have hurt him at all to just end whatever they had. It would've been painful for her to hear it, but she had been expecting this to end sooner than later.

Instead, she had behaved naively. How could she have expected him to show her courtesy? She was nothing but a poor foreign maid. He wouldn't have cared if he had wounded her with this, casting her aside as if what had transpired between them really had no value.

If that was true, then she shouldn't feel as gutted as she did. Not just gutted, but also humiliated. Her eyes stung, her throat restricted, as she thought of how he and everyone had looked at her with pity. She had never been an outspoken woman, but she still had her pride deep in her heart, and what was left of it had taken a big blow.

In the distance, she heard her name being called. Though it was muffled, she knew whom the insistent voice belonged to, and he was the last person she wanted to see.

His footfalls came closer, and as much as Wanda wanted to just run downstairs and stay there forever, she never picked up her pace. She was capable of it, especially since the tray wasn't nearly as heavy as when she had first brought it. But she never did, and it allowed him to catch up.

A hand slipped under her elbow and tugged on it roughly, pulling her to one of the many rooms in the maze that was the Stark Manor.

Before she could comprehend what was going on and where exactly she was in, the tray was yanked from her and it was replaced by his warm body. His hands cupped her jaw and her mouth was covered by his.

Wanda yelped at the sudden intrusion; he had never kissed her so forcefully. Infused with anger at his treatment, her hands twisted into little fists. Her knuckles delivered an onslaught of hits. He responded by wrapping his arms around her waist and had her flushed against him.

"Get–get–off," she fought against his lips. "Get off me."

She didn't want to receive his affections, not when they could be out of pity rather than love or even lust. Not when he had made it clear that she was unworthy of receiving anything from him.

Bucky's intensity instantly dwindled at the rejection, but his strong arms kept her in his embrace, covering her wet cheeks, jaw and neck in kisses. "Don't. Don't cry, doll."

Despite the pain and indignation she was going through, the numbness instantly diminished at the sound of his velvet voice. She didn't want to admit to herself, but each kiss was a welcoming source of comfort. She was so distraught at the humiliation she had suffered only moments ago, that she unclenched her fists. As quickly as she had begun her feeble assault, she stopped and instead wrapped her arms around his shoulders.

Wanda clung onto him, her mental walls breaking with the litany of soothing words Bucky whispered in her ear, serenading her of how beautiful she was, how he adored her, that he didn't want to see her cry.

It was the complete opposite of what she had expected him to act with her now that whatever they had been carrying between them was evidently a thing of the past.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," she sobbed, repeating it over and over, though she didn’t know what exactly she was apologizing for.

"You have nothing to be sorry for," he cooed.

Wanda shook her head, offering the only excuse she could think of with her emotions in a muddle. "I'm sorry I embarrassed you."

He suddenly grabbed her neck, forcing her to look up at him. His eyes were shining, brows furrowed and lines on his forehead as he stared with such magnitude; she knew that she had said something he didn't like. "Listen to me. Don't ever say that again. You didn't do nothing of the kind. Okay? You could never embarrass me."

Wanda nodded absentmindedly. "It's... it's just that I saw you with _her_ –"

"It is completely my fault. I should've told you about her, about them."

And there it was.

"You do not need to explain it to me," she replied acidly.

" _I do_ ," he asserted. "I didn't know they were coming until this morning. I tried looking for you, but I couldn't find you," he explained, sighing. "By the time they came, I only hoped that you wouldn't find out before I could tell you myself but... obviously it didn't go in my favor."

Wanda's brows pinched in curiosity; was this the _other_ thing that Natasha had warned? Her heart sunk just thinking about it. "Find out... about what?"

"My dear mother," he scoffed, the sarcasm plain. "Believes it's still fashionable to arrange her sons with those she sees as suitable to join the family."

She felt her face lack as she realized that Natasha had been right.

"You..." she swallowed nervously. "You care for her?"

"No! Well, I do, as a friend. Just a friend. I've known Maria for many years, but she never held my interest in that respect," He said, his face becoming softer as he caressed her cheek. "The only girl who does is _you_. You're all I think about, day and night."

"But..." she shook her head, confused. Was he saying he would go against his parents' wishes? "Your mother–"

"Is not going to change what I feel."

"What... what do you feel then, Bucky? For me?"

"I feel... like I've never, ever felt before," he murmured, tracing a fingertip on the shape of her bottom lip. "You light a _fire_ in me, Wanda. You're in my head every waking hour, your beautiful face is what I dream of every night. And when I'm with you, holding you in my arms, I never want to let go."

Wanda didn't know how to react to such a declaration. Her mind advised her to beware since he could be saying to make her feel better, to keep her around, but her heart argued that he couldn’t possibly be this open with her without meaning any of it. Bucky wasn't cruel.

"Do you mean it?"

His brows narrowed, but only for a second. In the next, he cupped her face and pulled her close again, their mouths crashing in a passionate kiss that left her whimpering.

"You're all I want. No one else."

She nodded, the kiss leaving her dizzy but no longer confused. "Then... what you are going to do about... about _her_?"

Bucky sighed. "You leave that to me, doll."

"And… what about us?" she pressed, her breathing uneven at bringing up the subject of them. "We cannot keep sneaking into rooms or running away into the night. It has always been a risk, and it is even more greater with… them here."

"You're right. Of course you're right," Bucky resigned, shrugging his shoulders. "They'll only be here for a week, so that's good for us. But you're right, we can't be sneaking around. Once they leave, then we'll discuss how we're going to tell my parents and your mother."

Wanda blinked twice. For the second time that day, her heart momentarily stopped beating.

"What?" she gasped.

Seeing her stunned reaction, Bucky smiled crookedly, looking much too amused. “You thought I would keep you secret?”

Hearing him say it aloud, it sounded ludicrous. Still, it was a statement she had never believed he would have uttered.

"Yes," she admitted sheepishly. What else was she supposed to think? He very well knew that his parents would never allow them to be together.

“Have you not been listening to anything I've been tellin' you?" he asked, his teasing tone not relaxing until seconds passed and Wanda’s shoulders continued to stiffen. He turned serious. "Do you not believe me?"

"What _are_ you telling me, Bucky?" she demanded, desperately needing an answer to a question that has been racking her head since he walked in on her in his room searching for her uniform hat. "That you want to tell your parents about us? That you… want to be with… me?"

"Why, yes, you silly girl!" he exclaimed, his arms circling around her waist to lift her off the ground. He twirled her in his arms twice, grinning as he saw Wanda's frown curve upwards into a timid smile. Once he brought her down, he pressed his warm lips against hers. To hear from his own mouth that he wanted to be with her – just as much she wanted to be with him – it was beyond elation. She enthusiastically returned the kiss, hoping he could somehow feel how happy she was.

After breaking away, she saw the tray seated on a wooden table and was annoyingly reminded of where she needed to be. She looked back up, and nearly gasped at how livened up Bucky's blue eyes were. She hated that they needed to part but, as always, her duties were calling.

"I have to go."

Bucky nodded, letting one arm go, keeping his free one on her hip. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you about them. It's not your fault, okay? And don't you worry. You don't have to worry about all this at all. Alright?"

She half-smiled. "Okay. I will... try not to."

Bucky chuckled, but didn't respond, instead giving her one more arduous kiss that left her wanting more. She picked up her tray, internally wincing as she remembered her accident and the rigid line on Jarvis's mouth when he'd see it. Without looking back at him, she quietly opened the door and scampered down the hallway, to evade running into anyone else.

Though Wanda was still not entirely convinced of how things would get better between them, it did bring her some peace of mind knowing his feelings were just as passionate as hers. No matter what Maria Hill's intentions were, or his mother's, he was determined not to allow them or anyone to come in between them – and it made Wanda's heart just skip thinking of it.

Exhilarated, filled with newfound hope, she skipped down the stairs and straight into the kitchen. She didn't meet Mrs. Palazzo's questionable gape as she dropped the tray of broken glass and ruined food on the counter by her kitchen maid, scurrying out of there before Mrs. Palazzo could even think of unleashing that infamous Italian fury.

As she rounded the corner, she bumped into Daisy. The slightly smaller brunette caught her by the forearms, eyes widened in surprise. Behind Daisy, sitting in the dining hall table by herself knitting, was her mother. Wanda instantly calmed her nerves as not to alarm her, and focused back on Daisy, ignoring the furrowing of her mother's brows.

"Whoa, where's the fire, Wanda?"

She exhaled softly before speaking. "Bucky and Steve are entertaining guests in the drawing room. I…" she paused as she irritatingly thought of Maria Hill's hand on Bucky, but only for a brief second. "I tripped on the carpet and I… I dropped the tray," she whispered, much to the dismay of Daisy. "I am very ashamed of myself, so could you please serve them in my place?"

"Oh, of course! I'm sorry that happened to you. Oh, that's just awful!" Daisy lamented. "No wonder you came down here as if you were being chased. They didn't give you any ill will, did they?"

Wanda shook her head, reaching for the stair's railing that would take her up to the servants' sleeping quarters. None of them did, except for a particular blonde whom she could already sense she would dislike. "No, thankfully. Well, I will leave it to you, and thank you."

Daisy smiled warmly at her and then disappeared into the kitchen. Wanda stood at the bottom of the stairs, the corner of her mouth ticking upwards as she realized that that was the first time in a long time that Daisy had smiled at her – _really_ smiled. It had been disappointing to witness how a downward slope their relationship had recently taken. She knew that Daisy still held a torch for her, and she truly hadn't meant to hurt her. But she had hoped with time, regardless of where her affiliation with Bucky turned, they would remain friends. She treasured Daisy's friendship, her companionship, and she wanted Daisy to know it.

Her thoughts were then interrupted by the screeching of a chair's legs. She turned to see her mother standing, knitting set aside, looking at her with that inquisitive, perceptive gaze of hers that she had grown accustomed to receiving. As if her mother could read her mind and know that she was hiding something from her. If there was one thing that Wanda knew her mother hated more than anything in the world, was her children keeping secrets from her.

" _Zdravo,_ mama," Wanda greeted nicely, waving a hand. And then before she could give her mother a chance to reply, she sprinted up the stairs.

 

 


	23. Here I Am

_June 17, 1926_

It was always bright and sunny in Los Angeles, supplemented by the soothing breezes of the Pacific Ocean. But on some other days, those winds couldn't stand against the mighty sun, whose rays were particularly burning. This inescapable heat, however, was perfect to catch a tan and swim laps, and the Manor's outside pool provided a calming sanctuary for the Starks and their friends.

Bucky, Tony, Steve, Sam, Clint, and Rhodey were playing volleyball in the water, with Stephen standing as referee.

Or, at least he tried to officiate the game. Every one of them, aside from Steve, were highly competitive, and so it made for an activity filled with yelling, expletives, and accusations of cheating. 

Meanwhile, a few feet away from the energetic scene, Pepper, Laura, Val, and Maria were chattering away in the newly installed whirlpool tub – which according to Tony, was the only one in the city.

" _Loki?_ " Maria gasped, brows raised in shock at what she was hearing about Thor's younger brother. "As in Loki, the quiet, moody fella who only ever spoke the words 'hello' and 'goodbye'?"

Val scoffed, irritation screwing her features. She had yet to meet her boyfriend's brother, but as more time passed, the less enthusiastic she became. "He's only polite when he wants something. Deep down he's a mischievous little high hat. But yeah, he has Thor worried, day and night. They're not close but Thor wishes they were, because he really cares about him."

"Is Thor going back to Stockholm?" asked Pepper.

"I dunno," Val said, shrugging. "I told him that if he really thought it'd help, that he go. But he thinks that if he goes alone, nothing will be fixed. He wants at least one of his parents to go too. But his mom is just melancholy over the situation and his dad – oh, his dad doesn't even want Loki's name to be said."

"I warned Clint about somethin' like this happening," Laura mumbled, briefly glancing at her boyfriend who was scolding Sam for bickering with Rhodey instead of paying attention to the volleyball. "Loki isn't like Thor – no matter how much he tries. He's a sensitive lad, and I'm positive that it hurt him a lot when his family permanently moved here and he was left behind."

"Oh, don't tell me you sympathize with him!" Val exclaimed with disbelief.

"No," Laura cowered for a moment. "But I also see someone who is desperate for attention."

Pepper nodded. "I kind of agree with her, Val."

"Huh." Val couldn't believe it. She sat in the tub, arms outstretched over the rims, having hoped that her friends would have supported her. But none of them knew Loki like she did. She hadn't met the damn boy, but she knew just enough from his family, and that was all she needed.

Val looked at Maria, who had kept quiet throughout the discussion. She was curious to see where her opinion balanced, if at all. "What about you, Maria? Are you on their side too?"

Maria's blue eyes widened into saucers. "Well. Um," she chuckled nervously. "I don't think I should say anything."

"Please do." Val pushed. "We'd all like to hear from somebody on the outside."

Maria's eyes narrowed on the comment for only a moment. Though she had moved to Chicago when they were still children, she always visited and had never felt like an outsider.

"Well... alright," she replied. "From how I remember Loki, he was a quiet kid. But like Val said, he has a mischievous streak. So it doesn't surprise me that he's run away from school again. What I'm confused is why he was left behind."

"When Thor's dad got contracted by Tony's dad to come to Hollywood, he brought Thor because he wanted to come. Loki, on the other hand, preferred to stay in Stockholm." Val explained. "Their mom stayed with Loki on the pretense that Loki would eventually give in. And when he didn't, determined to finish his studies there, Thor's mom left to come here. She didn't want to, but his dad thought it would change Loki's mind. So far, it hasn't."

Maria hummed softly; she now understood the whole situation. Loki's needy behavior called back to a specific person: her sister. "Perhaps because he wants them to go back. That's why he ran away, and it's not his first time either. He clearly wants them back there."

"But doesn't he get that his family lives here now and are better off here?" Val asked to no one in particular. "He's just being a selfish boy. He'll get over it."

"Hopefully," Pepper said with little optimism. "At least for Thor's sake."

At the mention of his name, the girls all turned their heads in his direction. They found Thor laying under the umbrella on a cushioned chaise lounge, his jaw hanging open as he slept soundly with his sunglasses on. Lorraine was next to him on the patio, but was instead taking in the sun.

When the game finally came to a conclusion – with the Starks earning a 4-3 victory that none of their opponents were willing to give them because they sore losers – Tony rang for cold beverages.

Jarvis sent Natasha to write down what each person wanted, and came back out along with Wanda with the trays. Both of them had avoided stepping outside that day, so once they did, their foreheads were becoming moist in less than a minute.

They served as demanded of them, careful not to meet eye contact, though it proved a tough task to fulfill when certain pairs of blue eyes were following their every step. The sun was scorching enough; being under their gaze brought on swooning sensations.

And to make matters worse, Jarvis had instructed them to stay outside, off to the side in case their service was required. Wanda had quietly recoiled, but luckily Natasha had spoken up, arguing that it was too hot to stand outside. Jarvis reluctantly agreed, but he still wanted them to be on standby for at least fifteen minutes.

Which brought the disgruntled maids to stand erect by the poolside, Wanda near the entrance and Natasha by the tub. They kept their heads slightly low, faces removed of emotion as they occasionally gazed at the people in the pool.

But the dry heat immediately brought them misery. They were wearing layered clothing, long sleeves and a black skirt that covered their entire legs. While Natasha focused on nothing in particular, counting down the minutes that she could go back into the cool house, Wanda stared at the sky-blue pool with longing; the water just looked so inviting, so refreshing. 

"Hey! Why don't you two head back in? We're good here."

Wanda blinked out of her little reverie at the sound of Tony's voice. He was looking at her and Natasha from the pool, pointing an index finger at the Manor. Confused, Wanda's eyes sought Natasha, who was opening her mouth when someone else spoke.

"No, they should stay, Tony." It was Lorraine, who was now sitting up on the chaise with her legs crossed, sipping her iced sweet tea. The way she presented herself, it was regal-like, and it was safe to say that no one responded kindly to it.

Pepper coughed as if she had lost her breath for a moment. The atmosphere suddenly quieted, everyone turning to look at Lorraine with not so hidden looks of shock, amazement, and amusement. With all eyes on the blonde, the maids took a chance to glance at Steve and Bucky, whose furrowed brows let them know that they couldn't believe at what Lorraine had said. _They_ themselves thought they had imagined it.

"Uh, no. They don't," Tony scoffed, his face scrunched up in annoyance.

"Yes they do," Lorraine stated matter of factly, holding her cat-eyed sunglasses at the tip as it slid down her petite nose. "I always have at least one servant with me at all times, even if I'm outside."

Her words took him aback, if that was even possible. But Tony quickly composed himself, smiling a forced tight-lipped smile. "But it's hot, they're gonna burn to death, we're doing quite fine, so they really don't need to be out here."

Lorraine shrugged off the explanation as she stretched her legs and stood up, one hand on her waist. "I'm not telling you how to run your house, Tony. I'm just stating the obvious."

Tony dramatically cocked his head to the side. "Well, it sounds like you kinda are telling me what to do."

"Well, I'm not," Lorraine said swiftly yet bluntly as she walked to the steps of the pool. She left her sunglasses on as she entered the waters, seemingly oblivious to the change of ambience around her. After a couple passing seconds, the tension slowly dissipated, and conversions were resumed as if nothing had happened. Feeling embarrassed over her sister's invasive conduct, Maria climbed out of the tub and went into the pool.

"I don't know what got into her," she apologized Bucky in a low voice.

"Ah, it's alright," Bucky said lamely as he eyed Lorraine while Maria locked her own on him. Something in his tone made Maria think the opposite, that Lorraine had overstepped on an unspoken boundary. One that shouldn't ever happen in public. Maria flinched inwardly just remembering the look on everyone's faces during Lorraine and Tony's back-and-forth. As if there wasn't any more evidence that her sister was widely disliked by their peers.

Maria wanted to say more, to tell him that she wouldn't act out again, but they both would know that that was a lie. Lorraine was an unpredictable gal who was unafraid of speaking her opinion, even when it wasn't asked. It was a trait that Maria had tried for years to rein in. She still has lots of work to do.

Tearing her eyes from Bucky, Maria saw Lorraine giggling to something Steve had said. She was awfully close to him, not caring about Sam and Clint's presence in the chat. From the flirtatious smile to her blue eyes fixated on the object of her interest, Lorraine Hill reminded Maria of those black-haired vamps from the pictures. She was beguiling, using every charm she had at her disposal to attract his attention. Trouble was, even from afar, it appeared like it wasn't working – which didn't bode well for Lorraine's conceited nature.

Lorraine jumped onto Steve's back, catching by surprise. She threw her upper body onto him, her arms gripped across his collarbone for support. Despite her laugher, her urging to pick her up and throw her, Steve proceeded to wrap his hands on her wrists and yanked outwards.

Watching the scene unfold, Natasha couldn't take it no more.

She didn't excuse herself. She didn't even do a mini bow of her head to signal her departure. She just huffed and turned on her heel, her wrists balled up as she trekked back to the mansion.

From the corner of his eye, Steve saw her leave. His face fell for a moment, but the splashing around him brought back his irritation. His eyes narrowed on Lorraine, who had her arms crossed tightly over her chest, pushing up the cleavage of her breasts.

"I wanted you to throw me, Steve," she whined with a pout.

Steve swam to the other corner of the pool, his back to her. "Not now, Lorraine."

A perplexed Wanda couldn't hide her slightly widened eyes at Natasha's abrupt and unannounced leaving. She stood there for a second, finding that the guests were just as confused as her at the whole incident. She knew that she wasn't supposed to leave, but Tony had said they could, and so, with a last glance at Bucky, Wanda's stuttering feet woke up and she followed after Natasha in an unhurried gait.

Once she knew she was out of their view, she took off into a run.

 

 

* * *

 

 

"Aargh!" Natasha growled loudly as she stalked into the servants quarters. "I cannot believe the nerve of her! How rude, how – how arrogant of her. Who in the hell does she think she is?"

 _Throwing herself at Steve, that wench_ , she wanted to add.

" _Miss Romanoff!_ " came the unmistakable British booming voice of Mr. Jarvis. "Do my ears deceive me of what I just heard come out of your mouth?"

Natasha stopped in her tracks, her cheeks and neck heated even more from getting caught cursing. She looked down at her feet, unclenching her fists as she sheepishly said, "I'm – I'm sorry."

Behind her, Wanda sprinted inside, unbeknownst. However, as soon as she sighted Jarvis, she too came to an unsteady standstill, startled.

Jarvis scrutinized the maids carefully, wondering why they were sweating and out of breath. But figuring it must've just been from the heat, he shoved his suspicion aside and asked, "You two have provided for our guests, I assume?"

Both nodded silently. Half-satisfied but not in the mood to quarrel, Jarvis let out a soft "hmph" and continued down the hallway, one hand in the small pocket of his dress jacket.

Wanda took three strides to the redhead's side. "I think you need to pray that he never knows what you just did," she whispered in a panic, though Jarvis was long gone.

"I could care less," Natasha said grimly. Her jaw pressed, she bit out, "I couldn't stay there. And it just wasn't because of this forsaken heat."

Natasha then marched away before Wanda could reply, but what could have she said to make her feel any better? She also was appalled by Lorraine's outlandish behavior. The only good thing was that at least she had directed her provocativeness at Steve and not Bucky. In that respect, she was a tiny bit thankful that Lorraine was _not_ Maria.

Wanda had barely gotten ahold of her bearings when her mother suddenly emerged down at the end of the hallway where the offices were located. Katia Maximoff's was the last one, next to Mrs. Johnson's, and the smallest out of the three.

She called out for Wanda, who considered coming up with an excuse so they won't discuss whatever she wanted to discuss. Her mother was not one to mask her feelings; she was an open book, free for anyone to read, and she never apologized for it. So Wanda could instantly recognize when her mother wanted to talk. Her face was relaxed yet also kind of strained at her brows, arms resting on her back, crossed at her wrists.

Wanda knew she couldn't avoid her mother forever, so she sighed and trudged to her office. She had finally cooled off, and now that she was sitting in the office under the heedful gaze of her mother's dark eyes, she could feel the hotness again creeping on her skin.

"I am going to be forthright with you, Wanda, because this is a serious matter." Mrs. Maximoff started. Wanda nodded for her continue. She inhaled. "Are you involved with Mr. Barnes?"

Wanda stilled at the mention of Bucky's name, taking all the willpower she had to not wince at the accusational tone that had slipped into the question, as if she already thought of her guilty. Another attribute of her mother that she loved to remind her children: her unbridled bluntness. When released, it was like whiplash. 

"No."

"I do not believe you." Mrs. Maximoff answered succinctly, quickly, as if she had anticipated her denial.

It completely threw Wanda off the footing she was trying to plant, and whatever little authority she had planned on exerting to combat her mother was lost. She found herself shrinking under pressure already.

"Where is this coming from, mama?" she asked innocently as she could. She was good at lying, but when it came to her mother, her track record was rather sketchy. Sometimes it worked, and other times – well, it was good not to remember those past incidents.

"I have been observing your interactions with him, Wanda," she said slowly, her heavy accent adding more emphasis to the dourness. "I do not like it."

In a feeble effort to hide the rapidly sense of discomfort sprouting in her gut, she did the only thing she could think of to expose the ridiculousness of the statement. She laughed. "Oh, mama, you are imagining!”

Immediately she realized that had been a mistake. "Do not make a fool of me, Wanda," Mrs. Maximoff threatened, her eyes minimizing into slits. "You must cease whatever you have carrying on with Mr. Barnes–"

"Mama, nothing is happ–" she tried to argue, to try to regain some power in convincing her otherwise, but it only angered her mother further.

"Do not interrupt me!" Mrs. Maximoff cried out, making Wanda visibly jump in her seat. " _End it_ , Wanda. Or…" she exhaled, and for the first time since they had entered the office, lowered her dark eyes to her desk, away from her daughter. "I will be forced to report it to Mrs. Stark."

Wanda's jaw dropped. She couldn't believe it; would her own mother implicate her? "What…?" she gasped in shock. She licked her chapped lips, her throat running dry. "I.. I don't…"

Mrs. Maximoff took one last time look at Wanda, expression no longer cold and stern, but that of apprehensive, maybe worry. It didn’t matter, though, because in the next fleeting moment, she left. She left Wanda alone, probably to purposefully let the warning sink in.

But it only made Wanda question herself.

How could her mother know?

She and Bucky had been careful – in the beginning. Lately, she knew they had been growing careless. Bucky getting more and more bold in his conquest. Not that Wanda didn't enjoy the fawning parade he was giving her – she was so happy, she was no longer ashamed of the wet dreams she had practically every single night.

But it had almost led to them getting discovered by his father. And with the Hill sisters staying at Stark Manor with no-so-secret ambitions of wooing, it felt as if some greater power was dropping hints on her. They weren't going to last. _They couldn't._

As these rambling thoughts go through her mind, she can't help but hear Bucky's voice, telling her of his intention to reveal their coupling to his parents. That he wants to be with her. How can she ignore his confession? She also desperately wants to be with him, free from judgment that she shivers at the mere idea of it happening.

As she exited the office, softly closing the door, she lifted her weary eyes and was met with dark brown ones.

Daisy stood at the spot of the hallway where the stairs to the sleeping quarters were to her left and to the right was the dining hall. She was holding a broom in one hand, her face smudged in black soot. With her black maid uniform, Daisy evoked the image of the Grim Reaper.

Wanda doesn't know what made the lightbulb go off. But as soon as she trains her eyes on Daisy, she just _knows_. Feels the shock of the realization run through every artery of her heart, shattering the connection that they had shared.

Her mother had rarely, if ever, had seen her interact with Bucky.

But Daisy had, and unfortunately, so much more.

Betrayal was a tough truth to swallow.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorryyyyyy for being late (especially for a short written chapter).
> 
> so wasn't my intention but i was busy with work & now im in florence, italy studying abroad. lots of moving around but ive settled for now.
> 
> the next chapter will be the longest one so far...... 
> 
> with *gasp* lemons xD (about time right)
> 
>  
> 
> thank you for reading♡♡


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